




























o II X 


^6^ 


qv ^ 0 « o ^ jjy , 

0 • . O 



<v^ * 

* 'V ^ 

<. ^0 



o « V"^ 

V 


’ • ^ 

• ^ * • ♦ rv ^ o " ® * 4 ^ I. # • ^^ 4 . 

*' o 



H %* ' 

♦ '*,<» /.O^ 0 ® ^ 

* ^ * 

> kV cs 

. O H O ’ O. *' 0 , •%* ^0 

^ V^ I*"*®- J.V »* 

^ ^ ♦ fCCCss A,*’ "^o <^ 

ys^v • 












^ 'b ‘.tt; •’ ^ 0^ 

' .*»*.?' ^ »J^'» ^ v^ .! 



: iP -nj. « 

^ * "^v^yTdjy^ /\ -''^UVCvSi^ V kV '"' •. <^/ll]^ '•' 

O *■ 2^CiM _ t /vV ^ yUiS O 0 

^ •*’ ^ ^ 0 «®* 4 ^ ♦•, 1 * 

'***>» ^ < 0 * » • • / ''^ \ »'^ V • o rv^ s • 

A> v! 63 5i'. v!fi^e<! 








♦w^C’ c° . 




j 9 

’ fO' 'V'''*."^^’* .^•«- 

0 ^ S ♦ • ^ ^-s. ^ V 

4^ .‘«»d^'. ..'4' , 



-. '^o ^ : 

r\ ^ u» 

^ aO » » !oL% 




"O.** aO 

0 o 

• ^ 

. ^ r^V 


\T' » , r 





^3 


> V 7 ^ 


*7* 


',*• 


O’ 










av , i4;>' * , 

• ' y LSfc T* 

^ Hi 


.w 


* V'^ 


t 





Vi 






- a;': 




it 


* ■ • 


i I 


M. 


A 1 




/*» t 








• ^ 



t 













1 


TO 


iW* 'i!^.' •> 


Ul ' ;■ '1 * ■ V*' 

■' • •'■ .'/A ,0 

.^i _. 




f ,y.. % irt 

«. fi - »wr 

* « *T» ■ V 



♦ 


f ' . 

iaTO'.v V’' ■ 


J' < 


4 





’.7'^ 


f ' k f ' ^ 




P -Vy.. 7H» 

» \;'3 #: 

; ■'/ >j * .’• . . i#‘ ' *-■ 


i* ,:.,^.i‘>' 


r 


... t 


i7 



/> 


Sfa-.j 



f 

.>', 7 >'■• - • '4 

., ii*.-r . ,..^ ■,,^-.wm.mlmiimM at ■ vsb vp ,,■ < ' 



BALSAM BOUGHS 


BEING 

ADIRONDACK AND OTHER STORIES 



ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL KNOWLES 


ILLUSTRATED 



PHILADELPHIA 
PORTER & COATES 


y 



COPYRIGHT, 1893, 

BY ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL KNOWLES 


DEDICATED TO MY WIFE. 


Let us soar 'mid the realms of Fancj^, 

Let us rise on blithesome wings, 

Wherever that Fancj^ leads us, 

Whatever thoughts it brings. 

Let us roam through the forests primeval. 
Where nature is wild and free, 

Where the wind sighs through the tree-tops 
In sweetest of melodj^; 

Let us walk o'er the ferns and mosses 
Spread thickly over the ground; 

Let us breathe delicious fragrance 
Of wild flowers blooming round; 

Let us hear the brooklet murmur 
In many a wild-wood place; 

Let us joy in the damps of the forest 
So cooling to one's face; 

Let us climb the heights of mountains 
And gaze on the world below; 

Let us look on the lakes and rivers 
On which we oft did row. 

Then away to the sunny seashore. 

Let us stroll by the sounding sea, 

And watch the waves that softly kiss 
The sand so caressingly; 

Let us gaze on the ocean raging. 

Let us look on its troubled breast. 

Or in moments of calm so placid 
When it seems to sleep and rest. 

Let us hie us back to the city. 

Where men live as thick as bees. 

Where toil and sorrow and pleasure. 

And the good and bad one sees. 

♦ *!(:*•* *• 

So we joy in the flight of Fancy, 

It brightens the daily life. 

And I pray these few short stories. 

May do so for my wife. 

So again to the mountains and forest 
Where the wind ever sighs and soughs 
Singing of her to whom I now 
Dedicate Balsam Boughs! 


October, 1893. 


THE AUTHOR. 



I 


Preface. 


T he logs are blazing merrily in the 
hearth ; the dancing flames are casting 
flickering light and shadow pictures on 
the wall ; the pleasant warmth is softly steal- 
ing over one ; forgotten is the snow outside 
lying like a white mantle on the ground, for- 
gotten are the ghostly, leafless trees, forgotten 
is the chill wind moaning so sadly, as dreamily 
watching the fire, we go in spirit to the ‘ ‘ land 
of the pines. ’ ’ 

Again we see the open camp on some quiet 
lake amid the beautiful Adirondacks ; again 
we see the moonlight shining through the 
trees, showing the lake glistening like silver 
and the mountain peaks standing like grim 
shadowy sentinels on every side ; again we 
hear the wind softly sighing through the pines ; 
again we see the blazing fire brilliantl}^ light- 
ing the little camp, and as in spirit we seem 
to be there, let us listen to the tales and stories 
as in deep happiness and contentment we 
recline on the fragrant Balsam Boughs. 

A. C. K. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Upper Au Sable Lake Frontispiece 


Lower Au Sable Lake 


Adirondack Lodge 

. . “ “ 128 


(From “The Adirondacks,” kindness of Mr. S. R. Stoddard.) 

Looking Towards Indian Pass . . . opposite page io6 

(From “The Adirondacks,” kindness of Mr. S. R. Stoddard.) 

The Adirondacks head of “ Illustrations h 

(Rom “ The Adirondacks,” kindness of Mr. S. R. Stoddard.) 




✓ 


\ 


y 




i 


Li; .:,v;,'-'\'\fv-*;.a;."'-',.l 


' r '»A T- 

W" - 


■»» 


r. : 




^ ' * I * I -i « » 


I 

k I 


i f 


^ • *- f . 

? i % 





'T '. ’ 

v> ' - ^ ' - '■ 

,<: fLf'~ f, • •■ * '•■• V’ 

\i' ^ 


%Sr 


rj 


?S •: . •■ ■■• ■- -*.{ w>, %t ■• ^''''i =. 

^a>, 'VV -r * -n , '■ ''M.- »''*^:^.;-rTp'T . . 

•* I' ^ ^ 


i: 


► 


^ f-% ‘■».f# 


» 

« 

» 


•** 




» 

V 



■ I** I 



« > 



, ,a . 


;i' < ' • ■' ■■’f. :>:% 

r . ..v‘ >....; 


t 



t -i 7 






r . ' ■ i *- ■ 7 ^ - - • . - 

.V,' 


'4i - 

.. ; 

9\, 

:Vi,. 

4*'' ^ 

W%. * 

'■^1 ' ■■ 

i 

r 

J , ^ • 

>1 

. 

,'ja< 




Upper Au Sable. 







CONTENTS. 


^ The Signor i 

^ Old Grumps 8 

Little Tim’s Christmas i6 

Love Victorious 23 

i/ A Romance of Eden 82 

J The Lake of the Broken Heart 94 

/ Her Mistake icxd 

^ Lost in the Indian Pass 106 

/ A Mountain Ramble 122 

/ A Jolly Good Time 141 

y A Mother’s Love 160 

1/ I’m Going Home 166 

/ 

^ The Guide’s Story 170 

J BALSAM BOUGHS 178 



I t 



> i 




I 

i 




\ 


T 


r 




1 








j 






» i 


^'. - 


^ 1 I t 

^'' 'J- I* ■ ' I 

t;* '■ ^ ' 

*^'\ f * • 

,■.'■■■ "V. • 


' * *'V , • 

iv ^r 


» r 


X 


y # 



f 


The Signor. 


T he signor was growing old. His 
once youthful face showed the ravages 
of old Father Time. No longer did 
the rich, southern blood mantle his cheeks, 
no more did his eyes flash with the old-timed 
fire. Now wrinkles and crow’s feet showed 
on his face, and his poor old eyes, dimmed 
with cares and years, looked vaguely ahead, 
as if uncertain of their sight. Snowy-white 
hair curled round his forehead, and clustered 
about his head and neck, giving the old 
Signor, with his smoothly -shaven face, quite 
a patriarchal, distinguished air. 

The Signor played the violin, and gave 
lessons on it, as witnessed by a modest little 
plate that appeared in the single window of 
his little room, calling the attention of the 
passers-by to this fact. To this, another 
announcement had been added, that the 
Signor also performed upon the organ, and 
would be pleased to play or offer instruction 
on that instrument. 

I 


2 


THK SIGNOR. 


He occupied a modest little room, in a cheap 
quarter of the city, but though the room was 
small, and the sign was small, the Signor 
was a man of rare talents, and his skill on both 
the violin and organ was known to the really 
musical souls who sought him out. 

But the Signor never attained notoriety — ^he 
was too modest and retiring, and his manner 
while excessively polite, was always distant, 
and people thought him unappreciative. His 
receipts were small, and as years passed, the 
Signor seemed to grow sadder and older, and 
lonelier. 

One day an acquaintance — for he always 
said he had no friend — asked him why he 
seemed so absent minded and sad. 

‘ ‘ Ah ! Signor ’ ’ he replied ‘ ‘ would not you 
be sad, if your Signora and children were in 
Italy, and you were waiting to save enough to 
bring them over to America, and the money 
did not come ? Five years have I waited and 
played, and played and waited, and here I am. 
I have almost enough, but I feel I am grow- 
ing old, and perhaps may never see my 
Signora again !” 

The Signor furtively brushed a tear from his 
eye, and then drawing his slender figure up, 
he bowed impressively, and placing his hand 
on his heart, exclaimed, “ But pardon, signor. 


THE SIGNOR. 


3 

1 should not of myself have spoken. I am at 
your service. ’ ’ 

From that day, fortune suddenly seemed to 
smile upon the Signor, and never before had 
he so many calls for his services, and so many 
lessons to be given. Whether the story he had 
told his friend had been repeated, and his 
friend had used his influence for the help of 
the Signor, never occurred to him, but he 
modestly accepted his good fortune as his just 
due. 

One night, the Signor closed the door of his 
little room, and drawing the curtains of his 
window, he went to a little cupboard and from 
it took a little bag. Seating himself at his 
shabby little desk, which stood opposite his 
organ (rented by the month), he opened the 
bag and poured its store — gold, silver and 
copper on the table. 

The look of expectation, the yearning glance 
was not such as a miser’s face would wear, no, 
it was that of a man bent on some beneficent 
deed or unselfish act. And to pay for the coming 
of his wife and children from distant Italy was 
not selfish, for though it would be his greatest 
joy, it would be their pleasure also. 

Coin after coin the old Signor counted out. 
Suddenly he became excited as he hurriedly 
went over the remaining pieces. 


4 


THE SIGNOR. 


At last, after those years of waiting the 
Signor had enough ! Now he would see his 
Signora, now he would play with his children 
and hear them call to him, now with them 
around him he would feel amply repaid for 
those long, long months of work and loneliness! 

A glad smile appeared on his wrinkled face, 
his dim eyes became dimmer yet with tears of 
joy and thankfulness. 

By and by, he could contain himself no 
longer ; he sprung to his feet, and after exe- 
cuting a dignified “pas seul,” he grasped his 
violin, and drew the bow over the expectant 
strings. 

His music was gay — rondos, dances, reels, 
jigs and serenades he dashed off — improvising 
from time to time. There were sweet sounds 
like the laughing of children ; there were notes 
so soft yet joyous that it seemed as if some 
rushing brook was rippling merrily over the 
pebbles of its bed ; there were strains that 
brought up visions of green fields and hills 
with young girls and boys playing merrily 
amid their verdant slopes ; there were untold 
melodies that only the old Signor could play 
or think out. 

Then he stopped, and sat down once more 
and penned a letter home, all the time being 
in spirit in that little village by the blue 
waters of the distant Mediterranean. 


THE SIGNOR. 


5 


The next morning that letter was on its 
way, while day by day the old Signor waited, 
with happy eyes and glad face. 

His acquaintances were told of his success 
and were made ready for the new arrivals. 

Days passed, and then weeks, and then they 
grew to months. 

At first, when no answer came, the Signor 
looked surprised, but as time passed, he daily 
became older looking, and the glad, happy 
look once more left his face, and in its stead 
came a worried, haggard, disappointed ex- 
pression. 

The old Signor day by day gave his lessons, 
but each succeeding night came home more 
and more tired and heartsick. Then he would 
sit at his organ, and there through the divine 
instrument, would pour out his grief in music, 
and feel some solace from it. 

One day — it was Christmas Eve — as he was 
finishing giving a lesson to one of his oldest 
pupils, the butler entered and handed the 
Signor a telegram. 

“ Ah ! Here it is ! Now will they come ” 
said the Signor, the light once more coming 
into his saddened eyes. He opened it, read it, 
and seemed as if stunned. 

His pupil, frightened, picked up the des- 
patch and read : 


6 


THK SIGNOR. 


“Signora and children died of the cholera 

three months ago. JOHN SMITH, 

Consul at “ 

They tried to console the Signor, and offered 
him wine, fearing the blow would be too much. 

The Signor rallied, and refusing all offers of 
help to see him home, left them. 

The day was cold, bitterly cold, but he did 
not feel it, for his heart was colder within him. 

Hardly knowing how he reached his little 
room, the Signor entered, and closed his door. 

Crushed, disappointed of his hope of years, 
with wife and children dead, nothing seemed 
to remain for him. 

The Signor prayed silently, for the Signor 
confessed a God, and he could still pray. 

Then he staggered to his organ and touched 
the keys. 

His fingers played, while with closed eyes 
he seemed unconscious of the darkening room 
and growing night. He forgot himself. 

He played an interlude, as it were, full of 
soft, beautiful passages mingled with heavy, 
sonorous sounds, like unto Life with its pleasu- 
ures and griefs ; then a harmony, seemingly un- 
ending, like his years of patient waiting ; then 
his touch became stronger, and harsh discord- 
ant notes were heard, as of the crashes of a 
storm, and there was a sound as of the beating 


THE SIGNOR. 


7 


rain, and the howling wind ; then a hurried 
undertone as of fear, while through all of this 
ran a sorrowful, awful wailing, as of an agon- 
ized breaking heart — the heart of the player 
himself ; then a sudden hush, and sweet, soft, 
strains, full of peace and rest rose on the air. 
It seemed as if the voices of angels were 
singing some divine harmony ; then tremulous 
and dreamy, as of a soul in its last prayer to 
its Maker. 

Slower and slower became the melody, 
sv/eeter and s^veeter the tones, until they died 
away in a long, beautiful echo. 

The moon arising, shone through the 
window on the old Signor, with his head now 
resting against the organ. Her light showed 
an expression of the most perfect peace and 
rest on the old man’s face, as if forgotten was 
his disappointment and grief. 

But the light about his face showed it was 
the peace that the world cannot give — it was 
the ‘ ‘ Peace of God which passeth all under- 
standing,” for the old Signor was dead. 


Old Grumps. 


S O I’m an old curmudgeon !” muttered old 
Grumps as he buttoned up his coat and 
turned the collar up about his neck to 
keep out the cold. 

It was Christmas Eve, and he had just left 
his lonely, gloomy, dingy looking house, in 
which he had lived for years, to go for a walk 
along the streets, for somehow, this afternoon 
his house seemed oppressive and full of old 
memories. 

It was still quite light, and the streets were 
thronged with old and young, engaged either 
in buying little Christmas gifts at this last 
moment, or in looking into the brilliantly 
lighted windows and enjoying the fun and 
happiness that Christmas Eve always seems 
to bring. 

Old Grumps had no sympathy with this feel- 
ing, for Christmas meant nothing to him, and 
the cheerfulness that seemed to pervade every- 
body and everything, only served to make 


OI.D GRUMPS. 9 

still more wretched his gloomy and hard old 
heart. 

He was rapidly hurrying along, when some 
little ragged urchins blocked his way, and one 
of them holding out a cigar-box with a slit in it, 
begged of him: “Please, mister, give us a 
penny. Please do, for this is Christmas Eve.” 

Grumps pushed him away and told him to 
“clear out,” at which the boys all set up the 
shout, “Let him alone, Billy, ’tis old Grumps, 
the old curmudgeon !” 

Now old Grumps usually never gave a rap 
for people’s opinions, or people’s criticism, but 
somehow or other, this time as he hurried 
away, the words keep ringing in his ears, 

‘ ‘The old curmudgeon ! The old curmudgeon ! 
Grumps, the old curmudgeon !” 

Grumps walked rapidly on, and presently 
he was out of the town and moving along the 
country turn-pike road, evidently desirous of 
getting away from the town. He seemed 
buried in thought and utterly oblivious to the 
snow which had commenced to fall thickly, 
and was covering the ground with soft white 
flakes, and he did not notice that the light 
was rapidly fading away. 

Presently, however, he became conscious of 
the growing darkness, of the fast falling snow 
which seemed to beat a little tattoo on his 


lO 


OI.D GRUMPS. 


head, seeming to say “The old curmudgeon ! 
Grumps, the old curmudgeon !” and he felt 
the cold wind which had now sprung up and 
which seemed singing in his ears, “The old 
curmudgeon ! Grumps, the old curmudgeon!” 

Suddenly Grumps paused, and a shudder 
seemed to go through his frame as he looked 
around. He must have walked a long dis- 
tance, and he recalled having gone up and 
down several little hills, but now as he looked 
about there was not a house or a light to be 
seen; the very road itself was hidden, and all 
around was apparently an endless undulating 
expanse, one smooth sheet of snow, with 
bare, leafless trees here and there sighing in 
the wind. 

Old Grumps was lost! Before him was not 
a sign to show him his way. All was white 
snow, while the very tracks he had made in 
coming were now obliterated by the falling 
flakes. lyOSt in the snow! Terrible thought! 
To go on might be to wander farther away, to 
go back was just as full of danger, for which 
way now was back? To remain still was 
death, for the snow would soon drift about 
him, the sharp wind would chill him to the 
bone, and gradually he would lose conscious- 
ness. 

Grumps stood irresolute. It was bad enough 


OLD GRUMPS. 


II 


to be lost, but it was the darkness that made 
him fearful. Half forgotten tales of goblins 
and elves aroused his superstitious dread. He 
looked fearfully around. The trees seemed to 
be whispering, nodding and grinning fiendishly 
in the darkness, and like evil spirits, they 
called up old memories of the past he had tried 
to forget — his early happy life, his pleasant 
home, the love of his heart, now dead, his 
married children, once devoted to him, but 
whom, one by one, he had driven away from 
him by his ill humor and his grump tiness, as 
he kept on growing more and more selfish 
and regardless of others, and more and more 
thoughtless of the poor and wretched, whom 
he could have helped so much with his wealth. 
All this and a host of other recollections came 
to him. His wretched heart seemed to grow 
cold within him, as he thought truly he was 
‘ ‘an old curmudgeon !” 

Suddenly he became still more startled as a 
gust of wind blew off his hat. He started on 
a run, and only came to a pause as he came 
upon a group of v/hite figures in the snow. 

It was a weird and ghostly sight, and yet as 
he looked he felt reassured, for the leader was 
a little old man with red, jolly-looking face 
and long white beard, who was warming his 
hands over a little fire near which stood a sleigh 


12 


OI.D GRUMPS. 


and four reindeer. Truly it was Kris Kingle 
or Santa Claus, as he is variously called! 

He beckoned Grumps to the fire, and then 
as he looked at his terrified appearance, his 
hatless head and white face, old Kris put 
his hands to his side and laughed and laughed, 
as he said “Well I well 1 well I The old cur- 
mudgeon I Grumps, the old curmudgeon I “ 
This made Grumps angry, and he was 
going to go for the little old man, w^ho seemed 
to know him the same as every one else, when 
suddenly there sprang up all about him, dozens 
of little fellows similar to Kris, who shook 
their fat little bodies and pointed their fingers 
at Grumps and said in chorus, ‘ ‘ The old cur- 
mudgeon I Grumps, The old curmudgeon I ’ ’ 
Grumps was absolutely startled. All seemed 
to know him, all seemed to point to him as an 
object of opprobrium. 

The fire burned low, all the little old men 
formed a circle and danced noiselessly around, 
the trees bent their branches and whispered to- 
gether, the wind sighed mournfully around, as 
the refrain would rise and fall in ever varying 
modulations: “The old curmudgeon! 

Grumps, the old curmudgeon !“ 

Grumps was almost dumb with fear, the 
strange little men, the invisible voices, all 
startled him, but inside his breast his heart was 


OLD GRUMPS. 13 

growing softer and softer, and lie was feeling 
thoroughly ashamed of himself. 

Suddenly it seemed as if the falling snow 
formed the sheet as of a magic lantern, and 
Grumps saw views thrown upon it in rapid suc- 
cession. He saw the upper room of a rotten 
tenement house he owned, in which an old man 
and woman were shivering by the fire, desti- 
tute of comforts ; then he saw a narrow alley 
court, and in it a little house in which several 
starved looking children were crying for some- 
thing to eat, while the mother sat wringing her 
hands ; again he saw a sick-room where a poor 
invalid had nothing to tempt her body to health 
again ; he saw misery and wretchedness. Then 
the views changed and he saw a happy home 
in which parents were preparing a Christmas 
tree for their little ones ; he saw children in 
their innocent sleep dreaming of Santa 
Claus and presents ; he saw people well-to- 
do, or poor, but all trying to get some Christ- 
mas joy. — ^Yes, many and many a view was 
flashed on this wonderful snow curtain, as the 
little old men danced round, and the voices 
sang “The old curmudgeon !” 

Suddenly the chime of a bell was heard. 
Kris Kingle darted to his sleigh, heaped with 
presents, and like a flash started of on his 
rounds ; the dancing men disappeared ; the fire 


14 


OI.D GRUMPS. 


died out, and old Grumps found himself shiv- 
ering and alone, listening to the dim chiming 
of a bell. Was it a dream ? Where could he be 
and what was the bell ? 

He looked around. It had ceased snowing, 
the bright moon was streaming around, and 
there only a little ways ahead was a church. 

Grumps hated churches, but an irresistible 
impulse urged him on until he reached the 
door, which w^as open. He entered ; all was 
in darkness. 

Grumps felt his way to a pew, and novel as 
it was to him, he knelt down and prayed, yes 
prayed, for his old hard heart had melted, and 
he was a cu7'mudgeon no longer! 

Up on the high altar was a beautiful painting 
of the Madonna, and suddenly it seemed to 
Grumps as if countless little lights were flash- 
ing there. He saw the beaming face of the 
Blessed Virgin, and the outstretched arms of 
the Holy Child, as sweet, beautiful voices 
sang : ‘ ‘ Glory to God in the Highest and on 

earth, peace, goodwill towards men,” and as he 
looked and listened, Grumps’s face seemed 
changed, as for the first time he felt the true 
Christmas light and joy pouring in on his 
heart. 

***** * * ** 

It was Christmas — and many a poor family 


OLD GRUMPS. 


15 


and wretched person was made glad by the 
presents that old Grumps — now genial, kind 
old Grumps sent. There was a dinner for all 
the poor little boys and girls, there was a 
“spread” in many, a wretched little house, 
and many countless good deeds all due to the 
old “curmudgeon.” 

And the “old curmudgeon” himself, what 
happened to him ? Humbly he went to church, 
then he gathered his neglected relations to- 
gether, and with song and jest and good cheer, 
they passed a happy Christmas. 

In the soft twilight old Grumps fell asleep, 
and the waning light partly shov/ed the beau- 
tiful smile on his face, and told that no longer 
he dreamed of elves and evil spirits, but full of 
“the peace that passeth understanding,” 
heard the song of the angels as they sang : 
“ Gloiy^ to God in the Highest, and on earth. 
Peace, Goodwill towards men.” 


Little Tim’s Christmas. 


I T was Christmas Eve, cold, clear and star- 
light. The streets were thronged with 
people buying little presents at the last 
moment, or wandering here and there, to gaze 
in the windows, gayly dressed with many a 
thing to please the eye and tempt the fancy. 

Little Tim pushed about among the crowd. 
He was tired from his work, and his little 
figure so thinl}^ clad, shook with the cold, 
but he felt it was Christmas Eve, and that 
he must have ‘ ‘ some Christmas. ’ ’ So with 
his little red hands deep down in his trousers 
pockets and his coat-collar turned way up 
round his neck, Tim waited and pushed, and 
tried to get a look at the big window, in front 
of which a crowd was standing, and from time 
to time cheering. Tim may have had a big 
heart, but he certainly had a little body, and 
try as he might, he could hardly catch a 
glimpse of what was to be seen. 

“ Let a feller see fer a minit, won’t yer ? ” 


I.ITTI.K Tim’s Christmas. 17 

said Little Tim, raising his eyes beseechingly 
to an old gentleman whose portly body shut 
off all view in his direction. 

The old gentleman looked down inquir- 
ingly, and saw the queer, tiny figure of little 
Tim. 

“So you want to see, do you, my boy ? ’’ 

“Yes, sir! I want to have some Christmas!” 
replied Tim. 

‘ ‘ Poor little chap ! Is this all the Christ- 
mas he has! ” thought the old gentleman as he 
made way for Tim to stand in front of him. 
Further thought was cut short by a little sigh 
of satisfaction from Tim as he obtained a good 
view of the window. In it was a house all 
lighted up inside, while outside make-believe 
snow lay around, and a very large moon 
looked down on the scene. Just then a little 
man with a long white beard, jovial red face 
and fat little figure — a veritable Santa Claus — 
came bouncing in, and bowing to the crowd, 
opened a pack and began to show the beautiful 
things inside. 

“Oh ! Jeminy ! Don’t I wish de fellers was 
here! ” exclaimed Tim, as with open eyes he 
watched the funny figure of Santa Claus. 

“Why! He’s a-going down de chimbley ! 
Say, Mister, are there little boys and little 


2 


1 8 I.ITTI.B TIM’S CHRISTMAS. 

girls in that house?” suddenly said Tim, 
turning to his portly friend behind him. 

‘ ‘ No, I think not. He is just showing how 
he will treat you all to-night, when at your 
homes,” replied the old gentleman. 

Tim’s astonished little eyes looked in the 
old gentleman’ s face. ‘ ‘ Does he really go down 
chimbleys and give peoples things? Don’t 
he hurt hisself ? ” This was a poser ; the old 
gentleman coughed, but before he could reply, 
little Tim said sadly : “I guess I ain’t in it. 
He never comes to me ! I’m only little 
Tim !” 

Santa Claus had now finished distributing 
his gifts, so coming to the front of the window, 
he bade the spectators good-night, and away 
he went. 

As the lights were put out in the window, 
little Tim heaved a deep sigh of regret. 

The old gentleman by this time had begun 
to feel an interest in little Tim, and thought 
he would ask him where he lived. Tittle 
Tim told him, and then they separated. 

The portly old gentleman began slowly to 
wander homeward. He was not the crusty 
old miser of the story books, who has goblins 
or spectres appear to him on Christmas Eve, 
telling him he is very wicked, and frighten 
him into being a new man ever after. No, 


Tim’s Christmas. 19 

the old gentleman was a kind old fellow, 
but he did hate to bother himself, so he 
tried to forget little Tim. But before his 
eyes would appear the slim, ragged little 
figure, and in his ears would sound that weak 
little voice when he asked to see and to ‘ ‘ have 
some Christmas.” 

The old gentleman himself did not have 
much Christmas, for his relations were all 
dead, and he and his wife were alone and had 
no children, but then they had plenty of 
money and a comfortable home. 

“Go now and see little Tim,” whispered a 
voice. He hurried along, but again and 
again the voice said : “Go and see little Tim, 
little Tim,” each time growing more and 
more importunate. 

He paused irresolutely and then suddenly 
turning, he did as the voice had whispered, 
and hunted for little Tim’s house. He found 
it just as Tim reached the door. It was in 
the back of a dirty little court, and the house — 
a two-story one, looked as if it would fall in 
every minute — but inside everything was 
scrupulously clean, but almost bare of com- 
forts. 

Two little children called to Tim to ask 
what he had seen, and the old gentleman 
addressed himself to a thin, tired-looking 
woman, Tim’s mother. 


20 


little Tim’s Christmas. 


She said that her husband had been dead 
some time, that she was often too ill to work, 
and that little Mary (pointing to a small crip- 
pled girl), suffered very much. Tim was the 
only means of keeping the family frbm starv- 
ing, and often they were almost in despair. 

Presently the old gentleman arose and say- 
ing good-bye, shook hands with little Tim 
and left. 

“ Poor people, ” thought the old gentleman 
as he wandered homewards, but most of his 
sympathy was for poor little crippled Mary. 

Christmas Eve went out and Christmas Day 
came in. 

The old gentleman had told his wife all 
about Tim and his family, and together they 
had taken an early walk, while a few of the 
stores were still open. 

Tim woke up, full of his dreams about a 
beautiful Santa Claus, and stockings full of 
good things, and little visions of reindeer and 
chimney-tops — and looked around at the bare 
walls of his tiny room. 

All the same as ever, nothing new, so poor 
little Tim crept downstairs, feeling disap- 
pointed that the jolly old Santa Claus had 
not visited him. Tim was the cook, but 
their breakfast was not a very hard meal to 
prepare. He made a little coffee, and with 


LITTLE TIM’S CHRISTMAS. 


21 


some bread and butter they made their meal. 
Suddenly there was a knock and a big bundle 
was handed in. 

It contained a warm suit for Tim and some 
little comforts for the house, marked, “From 
Santa Claus.” 

They were interrupted in the midst of their 
delight, by another knock, and there was a 
turkey and lots of good things, such as the 
children had never eaten ! 

What a Christmas they had ! How big and 
proud they felt in their nice new and warm 
clothes ; how they frequently looked again at 
the good things to eat to be sure they were 
real, and how Tim told long stories of the 
Santa Claus he had seen in the window ! 

And when at the close of the day, tired 
with their fun and play, but happy as could 
be, they crept to their beds, they felt they had 
had a real Christmas, and if sleep for a while 
refused to come to them, they revelled in 
visions of Santa Claus and the good things 
they had had. 

The portly old gentleman and his wife 
returned home from their walk, and perhaps 
little Tim, though he did not say so, guessed 
rightly, when he thought that they knew all 
about who sent the presents. 

The old gentleman spent some time in writ- 


22 WTTLH TIM’S CHRISTMAS. 

ing some letters, and one of them enclosed a 
check to endow a bed in a Home for Crippled 
Children. And then he wrote another long 
letter, arranging that Tim’s little sister Mary 
should be admitted to that Home, where she 
would be treated and made happy, and where 
her family could see her. 

It is hard to imagine their delight at the 
news ! 

Then the old gentleman and his wife had 
their Christmas dinner, and never before had 
they enjoyed this meal so much. 

The feeling that they had made little Tim’s 
family happy, and afterwards some other poor 
people happy, made them happy themselves, 
and thinking of the real Christmas they had 
given others, made them thoroughly enjoy 
theirs. 

And afterwards, when dozing in a chair 
with his hands folded across his portly figure, 
with his jolly old face wearing a smile of 
happiness and contentment, the old gentle- 
man dreamed, and it was of angels fluttering 
about him singing, ‘ ‘ Peace on earth, good will 
towards men.” 


Love Victorious. 


CHAPTER I. 

At Mount Desert. 


“ There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore.” 

Lord Byron. 

I T was a perfect August morning at Mount 
Desert. For days the thick fog had hung 
over the island, hiding everything from 
sight, making walking and driving very un- 
comfortable, if not absolutely dangerous, and 
with its accompaniment of chill and wet, 
rendering life anything but pleasant. 

Now, as if by fairy hands, all was changed. 
The warm sun was shining brightly over sea 
and land, causing the calm waters of French- 
man’s Bay to flash and sparkle, and making a 
fascinating play of light and shadow in places 
where the dense growth of trees cast their green 
colorings on the water. 

There was a dreamy languor and softness in 
the air, only to be had on an August day, and 


24 


I,OVK VICTORIOUS. 


it seemed especially fitting to the smoothly 
gliding canoe which was slowly making its way 
in the lea of the winding shores. 

A sun-browned and athletic-looking man of 
about thirty, Ralph Randolph by name, ar- 
rayed in the customary garb of flannels, softly 
plied the paddle, as he watched his course 
along the coast, and glanced from time to time 
at the other occupant of the canoe. 

Virginia I^ee well deserved the reputation 
she had acquired as ‘ ‘the belle of the summer. ’ ’ 
Tall, slender and graceful of figure, there was 
a certain charm about her that invariably at- 
tracted one, and together with her bright, re- 
fined, pleasing face, with her dark eyes capable 
of flashing with fun, or glowing with feeling, 
and with the masses of dark, wavy brown 
hair that clustered about her head, she was 
certainly a pretty girl. In a large straw hat, 
and a jaunty yachting dress, Virginia made a 
very lovely picture as she reclined in the canoe, 
scorning parasol and gloves, her hands hanging 
idly over the sides, touching the ice-cold water, 
which rippled against her fingers, as the canoe 
glided over the waves. 

Randolph had met Miss Lee during the pre- 
vious winter, when she had made her debut in 
society. 

Randolph having been her devoted admirer 


I.OVK VICTORIOUS. 


25 


then, it was perfectly natural that he should 
appear at Bar Harbor for a few weeks’ stay, 
and of course the gossips just as naturally 
told him off as “Virginia’s man.’’ 

Here, in beautiful Mount Desert, the long 
romantic walks, the driving parties, the dances, 
and the many chances of seeing each other, 
that a stay at Bar Harbor affords, had only 
serv^ed to deepen the friendship already begin- 
ning to develop into love. 

With so many thoughts and feelings in com- 
mon, a winter’s season of gayety, followed by 
a summer life like this, could hardly help such 
a rCvSult. 

Perhaps the strongest bonds of friendship or 
love, are those that spring from the convictions 
of religion, and this was certainly the case of 
Virginia and Randolph. Both had very strong 
ideas of duty ; both were regular attendants at 
a certain very ritualistic church in town, and 
both were interested in the various works 
among the poor, in the way of guilds and classes, 
which had been the means of throwing them 
much together. 

Then, too, Virginia, though a girl, was of a 
very inquiring mind as regards the lot and life of 
the poorer people, and in this respect, too, she 
had her counter-part in Randolph. He was 
quite a thinker, and having an extensive, 


26 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


although perhaps not always a thorough knowl- 
edge of the theories and practice of social eco- 
nomics, he was delighted to find such a ready 
listener in Virginia, and unknown to her or 
him he was gradually fashioning her ideas in 
conformity with his. 

But above and about all of this soberness 
and depth of seriousness, there was a life and 
animation about Virginia, which made her a 
most lively and fascinating companion, and well 
endeared her to her many friends. 

The summer at Mount Desert was passing 
all too quickly, and now on this morning, the 
day before the one on which Randolph was to 
leave for home, they were taking a last long 
paddle together, canoeing being something in 
which they both delighted. 

Along they glided, Randolph one moment 
urging them forward by a few powerful, but 
noiseless strokes, then ceasing to paddle, he 
would watch the canoe slowly drift onward. 

An intense quiet seemed to reign, even the 
winds being asleep, and the light haze only 
served to make still more beautiful and ideal 
the distant mainland, with its ranges of pur- 
plish mountains fading away to the horizon. 
Now the canoe would float over a little bay, 
where the waters glistened and shone ; then, 
rounding some projecting point of mainland, 


I.OVK VICTORIOUS. 


27 


it would closely skirt the shores, passing the 
thickly clad, pine-covered heights, the rough, 
black rocks, or suddenly come upon some 
artistically designed cottage, with its green 
lawn and cliff walks. 

After they had proceeded for several miles 
along the coast, at a suggestion from Virginia, 
Randolph turned the canoe, and headed for 
Bar Island. 

Before they reached there, they came to the 
long swells of the ocean, now rolling in, and 
with long easy leaps, the canoe, seemingly 
endowed with life, as it were, rapidly darted 
forward. 

“Isn’t this perfect!” said Virginia, “I 
think there is such a rare sense of pleasure in 
being on the water, and in the feeling that one 
is away from the noise and hum of the town. 
Here, you see, is almost absolute stillness. 
Besides, it is so jolly to feel the canoe almost 
spring beneath one I ’ ’ 

“Yes, ” said Randolph, “this swell helps 
one’s stroke immensely, and it is most exhil- 
arating to see the canoe dart along as I use the 
paddle. Don’t you think it, would be pleasant 
to land, and to walk for a little while along the 
rocks of the island ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes, indeed, I think it would be lovely, if 
you do not mind the trouble. You are sure 


28 


LOVE VICTORIOUvS. 


you’ll not Upset us ? ” This last was said with 
a mischievous little laugh. 

“Well, if we do go over, ’’ replied Ralph, 

‘ ‘ it would be so romantic, you know, for me 
to rescue a fair maiden from the waves, and 
have everyone praise my skill or bravery ! ’ ’ 

“ If you do not mind, I must prefer to be 
prosaic” laughed Virginia, “especially as this 
water is not noted for its warmth ! ’ ’ 

They ceased talking as they approached 
closely to the island. 

Randolph singled out a little beach of gleam- 
ing sand, lying at the foot of some giant cliffs. 
Slowly now and very carefully he guided the 
canoe — for it requires great care and skill to 
make a safe landing — and in a few seconds a 
soft grating sound told them that the canoe 
had beached. 

A few moments answered to draw the canoe 
to a place of safety, where it would not chafe 
against the rocks or be carried off, should the 
tide rise. 

Then Randolph and Virginia climbed to the 
rocks above, and entered the cool shade of the 
trees. The pine-cones formed a soft carpet 
beneath their feet, and filled the air with their 
fragrance, mingling with that of the wild 
flowers growing about, the characteristics of 
most of the lovely islands of Maine. Passing 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


29 


through a mass of luxuriant ferns and mosses, 
and bright blossoms of golden -rod here and 
there, they came out on the cliffs into the snn 
again. 

Selecting a comfortable spot ina little corner 
of the rocks, they seated themselves, and for 
a few moments sat silently watching the bright 
sea and the white sails skimming over its 
smooth surface far out from shore. 

‘ ‘ Does the sea make you sad ? ’ ’ asked 
Virginia suddenly. 

‘‘Yes, but I rather lik^ the feeling, when 
caused by the sea, ” Randolph answered, “ for 
it is a pleasant sadness, and one great thing 
which always appeals to me in the ocean, is, as 
it were, its sympathy with one’s moods. It is 
always changing, and often it seems exactly 
to coiTespond with one’s feelings.” 

” I partly understand what you mean, ” said 
Virginia, ‘‘if you saj^ that on a calm day the 
sea might please you, or that on a stormy day, 
it would be oppressive, or even irritating ; but 
how do you mean that it is in sympathy with 
your moods ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I mean this : A man may feel gloomy and 
depressed — he walks to the shore, and the sea 
too seems sullen and dark ; then, at another 
time, he may be angry at something or may be 
worrying about matters which he cannot help or 


30 1.0 VK VICTORIOUS. 

change — just as the sea, when in a rage, frets, 
chafes, or beats against the rocks in vain ; once 
again, a man is bright and happy, and his 
thoughts are calm and untroubled. In this 
mood he wanders along the coast and sees 
the ocean at rest, and its placid bosom corre- 
sponds with his own feeling of peace and quiet, 
and he feels just such a deep joy in looking 
at the smooth waters and listening to their 
murmur, as Byron must have experienced 
when he wrote in ‘ Childe Harold’ : 

‘ There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore.’ ” 

Virginia sat thinking for a few moments, and 
then said : “I think you are right, Mr. Ran- 
dolph, and there is no doubt that the sea is 
companionable. It makes me think, however, 
how wonderful it is, and how insignificant we 
little mortals are. Sometimes that sense of 
power which it has, together with the feeling 
of loneliness one often has at its side, is oppres- 
sive to me and I long to leave it. Still, I love 
it dearly. But I love it best when I watch it, as 
we now see it, and when I hear its soft murmur, 
and feel the fresh, salty air blowing from it. I 
enjoy it so much, that to me it sometimes seems 
very selfish to be staying here all summer, 
when so many poor people are working and 
toiling away in the hot cities, quite worn out. 


IvOVEJ VICTORIOUS. 


31 


to whom a stay here would be like a little 
earthly paradise, and probably add years to 
their life.” 

‘ ‘ That is really a noble thought, Miss Lee, 
and well worthy of you, ” said Ralph, ” and 
I fear that very few people here ever let such 
an idea come into their heads, for it might 
spoil their pleasure ! This world has become 
so changed, however, from its first conditions, 
that it looks as if it were ordained that some 
should live in wretchedness, want and priva- 
tion — an existence of much work and scanty 
pleasure — while others should have little to do, 
except to seek one means of enjoyment after 
another. Perhaps your remaining in the city, 
as you suggest, would only add another one 
to the ‘ stay-at-homes, ’ with but little return 
or good resulting from your self-sacrifice. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That is not very encouraging, Mr. Ran- 
dolph, or complimentary to one’s power for 
good, ” returned Virginia. 

” Indeed, it is, though, ” Ralph hastened to 
say, ‘ ‘ for we all know how much many of the 
poor whom you visit in the winter love you, 
and we also know of the many works for them, 
in which you take an active part. Besides, how 
about those little summer trips you give to so 
many poor children, and all that sort of thing. 
Why, I tell you. Miss Lee, if most persons did 


32 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


but a little of what you do, this world would 
be a far happier place, not only for those bene- 
fited, but for the helpers themselves.” 

“Sometimes, I think, ” said Virginia, in a 
very low voice, and almost as if speaking to 
herself, while her eyes had a soft, dreamy look 
in them, as she gazed on the ocean, “that so 
many of us, professing to be good church 
people, following our Lord and presumably 
trying to bear other’s crosses, do so little, so 
very little for Him ! Perhaps we work in some 
pet guilds or teach some good little boys in 
Sunday Schools, visit a little, and speak famil- 
iarly of slumming and self-sacrifice, but how 
few really know what it is to work for others ! 
What a lovely life it would be, to devote one’s 
entire time and efforts to help and raise the 
unfortunate ! ” 

For a few moments there was silence, for 
both were deep in the thoughts that had come 
to them. Finally Randolph said : “I think. 
Miss Lee, that your time is devoted to far more 
of humanitarian work than you give yourself 
credit for. Since we are talking so confiden- 
tially, let me tell you of my ideal life and I can 
think of nothing finer, to my mind, than this : 
Two lives, made one by marriage, happy in 
each other, in that mutual self-sacrifice which 
true love involves, and in that ready sympathy 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


33 


which comes of similar ideas ; these two per> 
sons faithful to their home and those around 
them, yet daily working' and planning to give 
help) sunshine and hope to the unfortunate 
poor or sinning ones who are around every- 
where. I am sure you will not laugh at this. 
You see there is such a large field in which 
to work) and there are so few unselfish workers. 
Will you forgive me forcing this idea on you ? ” 

“ There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Randolph, 
and I thank you for your confidence, ” and 
then after a pause, she added as if afraid of his 
continuing : “I am so sorry that you are to 
leave to-morrow. ’ ’ 

“ I fear it cannot be helped, as I have to re- 
turn to work. I, too, am awfully sorry. And 
what pleasant times we have had together, 
climbing the mountains, and taking long 
walks or canoe trips. By the way, will you 
ever forget the day on which we drove to Otter 
Cliffs and were caught in the rain? Every 
time I think of it, it makes me laugh, and I 
can see us now, driving home, with that old 
horse at a gallop, as we sat on the buck- 
board with a shawl over our knees, while I 
held an umbrella up with one hand, and drove 
with the other. My ! We were wet, and the 
people were shocked as we drove into the 
town!’' 


3 


34 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


“ So silly they were,” responded Virginia, 
with a blush, “As if we had broken through 
every rule of conventionality ! No, I do not for- 
get, and I wish we could have our summer all 
over again. But we must go now, for I fear 
it is getting late.” 

Up she rose, and then both of them carefully 
clambered down the rocks, and reaching their 
canoe, launched it, and paddled for home. 

That night Randolph sat with Virginia on 
the piazza for quite a while. It was at a hop, 
and they preferred the soft sea-breeze and the 
play of the moonlight outside, to waltzing 
amid the throng of dancers in the hot, stifling 
parlors. 

Randolph longed to tell Virginia of his feel- 
ing for her but something prevented him and 
made him put it off. 

The following morning, when on the steamer, 
he stood in the stern, and saw the bold, rocky 
shores of Mount Desert rapidly fading away in 
the distance, it was with a deep regret that he 
realized that his trip was over, and that many 
weeks must elapse before he would see Virginia 
again. 


CHAPTER II. 


The Same Old Story. 


“—Everywhere, love hangs bleeding on the Crucifix.” 

Another winter had passed, and the time 
of parties and teas had been succeeded by the 
days of Lent, when society had, in a measure, 
retired within itself, many members to try to 
lead more useful, sensible lives, but perhaps a 
far greater number to pass the sombre season 
at the seashore, either resting from their 
gaiety or else substituting a new form of 
amusement for that which they had for the 
time given up. 

Randolph, being of a very religious turn of 
mind, tried to be in daily attendance at church, 
and after the various services he frequently 
availed himself of the chance to walk home 
with Miss Lee. He had now, after a devotion 
of two winters, decided to bring to an issue an 
important phase of his life. He knew that he 
loved Virginia — not v/ith the blind, ardent affec- 
tion of a young boy but with the deep devotion 
of a man, knowing himself, one who had bat- 


36 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


tied a little with the world, and could tell the 
difference between fascination and love. 

Like many men, he had an ideal, and al- 
though it might seem a strange or extravagant 
one to his friends, he‘ felt perfectly assured in 
his own mind, that if ever he married, it must 
be to some one nearly or quite realizing this 
visionary being. 

In Virginia he thought he found this affinity, 
so step by step his admiration had turned to 
love, and love to a perfect devotion. Broken 
hearts he did not believe in, nevertheless, now 
he had decided to test the liking of Virginia 
for him, he felt that it would be a severe blow 
to be refused, and that it would take away a 
great incentive to achieve distinction of any 
kind. He knew, too, that Virginia, apart from 
her personal charms and accomplishments, her 
winning w^ays and graces, had a most lovely 
character, unselfish to a degree, and capable of 
the most tender affection for the one she loved, 
and who would, to the letter of the words: 
“Love, honour and obey.” 

So, resolved on his course, Randolph nerved 
himself for the ordeial, and one evening called 
on Virginia. 

The little reception room never looked pret- 
tier. Several lamps shed their soft light around, 
and showed Ralph many of those little feminine 


I.OVK VICTORIOUS. 37 

touches that undoubtedly do so much towards 
making a house a home. 

As he sat waiting during those few moments 
that usually elapse, before the object of one’s 
call enters — like an interlude to the culminating 
scene of a little play — he carelessly picked up a 
volume of verses from the table and opened 
it. 

Was it chance that his eyes should fall on 
those beautiful lines of James Russell Lowell, 
entitled : “ My Love ? ” 

Randolph had just finished reading them, 
when there was a little rustle of the draperies, 
and the sound of a light step, and Virginia, 
dressed in an airy little evening gown, smil- 
ingly extended her hand to him, as she 
cordially exclaimed : “I am awfully glad to 
see you, Mr. Randolph. I am afraid, though, 
that you thought I was never to appear — I was 
SO long in coming !” 

“ Oh ! No ! I was glancing over this little 
book as you came in, and I do not think you 
were a moment. By the way, have you ever 
read this little piece? I think, if I may say 
so, that these words really describe you per- 
fectly !” 

“Describe me, why lovely! Let me see 
them,” (taking the book from him) “Oh! 
You mean that little piece of Lowell’s. I know 


38 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 


it by heart, and you are awfully good to say 
so, Mr. Randolph, but I am sure I do not think 
I have much claim to be like the lovely 
being described. I wish you meant it all, 
though.” 

Then, as Ralph attempted to convince her, 
in rather glowing terms, of his sincerity, and 
of her likeness to Lowell’s picture, blush- 
ing, she stopped him, saying: “I see you 
still like to pay pretty compliments, but I 
wish you wouldn’t do so. Changing the sub- 
ject, did you finish that book you were telling 
me about yesterday afternoon?” 

Are not all tete-a-tete calls very much alike ? 
Little scraps of sober and serious conversation, 
perhaps some pretty play of fancy, a little cir- 
culation of charming compliments, intermingled 
with a little fun, gossip and current small-talk 
— is not this such an evening’s enjoyment ? 

This night it was certainly no exception to 
the rule. 

Never had Virginia seemed more lovely or 
entertaining and as their talk drifted from one 
topic to another, Randolph sat and thought 
how he longed to win her. Several times he 
tried to lead up to the question that he wished 
to ask, but each time he felt that Virginia 
deftly, and with a woman’s tact, turned the 
talk into another channel. 


I.OVB VICTORIOUS. 


39 


As the evening wore on, Randolph became 
more and more resolved not to leave without 
an answer, and finally by forcing the conversa- 
tion, he found an opportunity to tell Virginia 
of “a little matter” on which he wished to 
ask her advice. 

“You know,” he began, “Some people 
seem to like to make me their confidant, and 
often I hear some very funny things. Well, I 
know of a man who met a very pretty girl 
some time ago, and for almost two years he 
studied and watched her, and tried to see as 
much of her as possible. 

‘ ‘Without any particular encouragement from 
her, at last he found himself desperately, de- 
votedly, in love with her. He saw her again in 
the summer, when, although she was sur- 
rounded by other admirers, he saw much of 
her, and left the place only to find that his love 
had grown even stronger, if possible. What 
could he do? To go away from her forever, 
without telling his secret would be foolish and 
unmanly — to ask and be refused would be a 
terrible disappointment. Now, Miss Tee, I 
wish to ask you this : should a man, with 
nothing to offer but himself, and with the 
means of giving her a comfortable home, ask 

this girl to sacrifice herself for him ” he 

paused and looked at Virginia, who with 


•40 


I.0VE VICTORIOUS. 


reddening cheeks, seemed to know what was 
coming, and then as she made no response, 
Randolph dropping his assumed coolness, as 
his whole soul seemed to go out to her whom 
he loved so dearly, continued in a lower voice 
as he pleaded : ‘ ‘ Oh ! Miss Lee, you know 
what I mean — you 7mist know that I mean 
myself, and that I love you dearly ! I love you, 
and have loved you all this long time, but have 
only kept back because of the knowledge 
of how little I could ever offer you. Cannot 
you love me, and tell me that you do so now 
a little, and will promise to marry me? ” 

It was out. He had ‘ ‘ done the act, ’ ’ and 
now sat leaning forward, with an earnest, ex- 
pectant, almost beseeching expression, to wait 
for her answer. 

Did Virginia anticipate this, and had she 
ever thought of this man as a possible hus- 
band ? 

Yes, with that intuition that is the gift of 
nearly all women, she knew Randolph loved 
her and she had looked for his proposal, just as 
she had feared it. 

Now, face to face with the question asked, 
she felt her resolution gone. She did love him ; 
she had not been cold to his little attentions 
and devotion to her ; she knew they were not 
prompted by mere selfishness, for though the 


tOVE VICTORIOUS. 


-41 


desire to use them to win a place in her regard 
may have existed, the chief object underlying 
them all, she saw was the wish to please her 
and add to her enjoyment. 

All this had not passed for nothing, and 
besides, she admired his manliness and strong 
character. 

She thought of no other man as she did of 
him, and had repeatedly pictured herself in 
just her present position, and had considered 
as to what to do. 

Now, in the supreme moment, with a 
woman’s perversity and inconsistency, she said 
what she did not mean, and turned away, 
a disappointed and despondent man, the one 
she loved. 

“Mr. Randolph,” she murmured, “You 
should not have told me this. I am awfully 
sorry. We have always been such good 
friends, and now you wish to change every- 
thing. Oh ! Why must I answer this?” And 
then she longed to say “yes” but did not, and 
then she wished she could have escaped, or 
that something — anything — might happen to 
delay a final reply. 

Does man, with all his boasted knowledge, 
ever thoroughly understand women ? Perhaps 
not. 

In this instance, Randolph, instead of gain- 


42 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


ing courage and hope from the fact that 
Virginia hesitated, loses heart, and with his 
face growing pale, forces himself to say : 
“ Miss Lee, Virginia — do you mean that this 
can never be, that I must go away ? Do let 
me hope ! I’ll wait a day — a month — as long 
as you say, if only you tell me that in the end 
you will love me. Do not say ‘ No.’ Let me 
wait !” 

Virginia glanced at the large strong man, 
thinking how he must love her, and how sad 
he looked as he pleaded, but she shook her 
head and said, “No! I cannot say so, Mr. 
Randolph. Please do not ask me. I am far 
more sorry than I can tell you. ’ ’ 

Randolph hurriedly arose, seized her hand 
and muttering some words of farewell, walked 
to the hall. Virginia looked after him as he 
left, heard the sound of the closing door, even 
then hoping he would come back, and after 
sitting erect and expectant for a few moments, 
she buried her head in the sofa cushions, and 
burst into tears. 

‘ ‘ Oh I Why did he not know ’ ’ she moaned. 
“ Why did he have to ask if I love him. He 
should know I do, and now he is gone, think- 
ing I do not. To turn him away, Oh I What 
have I done ! Oh I Ralph I Why did you . . . 
not know better?’’ So, one moment 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


43 


blaming him, then lamenting her own fault, 
she sat there, miserable, wretched, unhappy. 

Should she write to him, and ask him to 
come back, and tell him that it was entirely a 
mistake and a blunder all through ? Or should 
she wait until he called again ? Called again ! 
Why, he probably would never call again, and 
possibly might avoid her when they met. Oh ! 
she could never bear that, it would be so cruel, 
and so unlike him ! 

Could she blame him, when she had treated 
Ralph so cruelly ? Another flood of tears, and 
then growing calmer, she arose, and went 
quietly to her own room. 

Closing the door, she thought she would 
write, but her pride forbade her. She picked 
up a book, to see if she could forget, if but for 
a moment, but the words swam before her 
eyes. 

In despair she threw herself on her bed, cry- 
ing “Oh ! Ralph, will you never come back? 
Don’t mind what I said, only come back, and 
I’ll tell you how I love you, and then we will 
be so happy. Oh ! come back, Ralph, and 
forgive me !’ ’ 

She arose, and going to a little Priex-Dieu, 
in one comer of the room, knelt there and tried 
to pray. And as she knelt and glanced at a 
small Crucifix on the wall, and thought of 


44 


LOVE VICTORIOU3- 


what an agony was there represented, there 
suddenly flashed through her brain some words 
she had once read : 

“ Everywhere love hangs bleeding on the Crucifix.” 

Praying and sobbing, presently a calm comes 
over her, and utterly exhausted by the 
strength of her feelings, she falls asleep. 

Late that night she awakened, restless and 
feverish. Going to her bed again, she sinks 
into a troubled slumber, that state of rest that 
Nature ever provides to comfort and relieve 
her weary children. 


CHAPTER III. 


In the Shadows. 


“ We watched her breathing through the night 
Her breathing soft and low. 

As in her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro.*' 

Thomas Hood. 

When on the following morning, Mrs. Lee 
entered her daughter’s room, wondering at her 
non-appearance at breakfast, after having been 
repeatedly called, she found Virginia in a burn- 
ing fever. 

Her condition became so much worse as the 
day wore on, that shortly after the doctor’s 
visit she became delirious. 

Mrs. Lee was greatly disturbed. If there 
was one thing in the world that she particu- 
larly disliked, it was to have sickness in the 
house, and now that Virginia was very ill, and 
for all that she (Mi*s. Lee) knew, perhaps in 
a very critical state, she was almost at her 
wit’s end. 

She loved her daughter devotedly, but she 
was of a very excitable temperament, and the 


46 


1,0 VE VICTORIOUS. 


worriment and anxiety caused by Virginia’s 
illness, and the consequent disorder of her well- 
regulated household, made Mrs. Lee not only 
very nervous, but also very cross. 

Old Doctor Smith, who had been called in, 
seemed to be utterly non-plussed by the case, 
but finally said it was brain-fever, probably 
brought on by some great mental strain or 
over-exertion. Virginia, for the greater part 
of the time delirious, raved continually, but her 
conversation — if such it could be called — was 
entirely unintelHgible to her hearers. 

Mrs. Lee was all devotion, when she found 
that her daughter was in for a long illness, 
and as day by day passed with no apparent im- 
provement in her daughter’s condition, she 
could hardly be persuaded to take any rest. 

Doctor Smith frequently heard Virginia in 
her ravings, but if he had any suspicions, for 
awhile he kept them to himself. 

Finally, however, when the patient appeared 
to be growing weaker and sinking instead of 
improving, the doctor, with a very grave face, 
drew Mrs. Lee aside. 

“ Mrs. Lee, ” he said, “It is not curiosity 
that makes me ask what I am now going to, 
and I hope you will understand my reasons, 
when I inquire if you know of any little love 
affair of your daughter. ’ ’ 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


47 


“Love affair! Why, never that I heard 
about, ’ ’ promptly responded Mrs. Lee, and 
then adding more thoughtfully, “Unless it 
might have been Mr. Brown, whom she met 
at Bar Harbor, and who has been very atten- 
tive this winter — but no, I am sure she never 
cared for him.” 

“You are sure there was no one else, say 
some one she might know named Ralph ?’ ’ per- 
sisted the doctor. 

‘ ‘ Oh I Y ou are thinking of Ralph Randolph I 
He has known Virginia for years, and has seen 
her at all times — in fact he is quite a friend of 
the family — ’ ’ Suddenly she stopped, thought 
for a moment, and then said, as if trying to re- 
call something : “It just flashed on my mind 
that on the night before my daughter became 
ill, Mr. Randolph called, and remained much 
later than usual. I never, for a moment, 
thought that there could be anything be- 
tween them, but now I recall that Virginia 
went to her room that night without seeing 
me — a most unusual thing.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Lee, ” said Dr. Smith, “ It 
is just as I imagined. Your daughter has been 
continually talking of some one called Ralph, 
and asking for him. I do npt, of course, know 
what may have occurred between* them, but I‘ 
do firmly believe, that to see him now would 


hOV^ VICTORIOUS. 


bring. Miss Lee around all right. If she does 
not see him, and there is no change for the 
better, in a short time^ I fear we must pre- 
pare for the worst.” 

Mrs. Lee was startled, and a great dread 
crept over her at the doctor’s words. At his 
urgent solicitation, she promised to send for 
Randolph. 

Doctor Smith left, and she softly entered the 
sick-room. 

As she stepped across the partially-darkened 
room, she noticed some large bunches of roses, 
sent to the invalid by some thoughtful friends, 
and became aware of their cool fragrance, as it 
filled the air. 

Mrs. Lee placed her hand on the girl’s fore- 
head and stroked the waving brown hair from 
her face, now flushed with fever. 

Virginia was sleeping, but her slumber was 
restless and disturbed, and every few moments 
she murmured some indistinct words. Mrs. 
Lee leaned over her, and presently made out 
something sounding like: “Oh! Ralph, 
Ralph ! How could you leave me like this ! 
It was all a mistake ! Come back to me, come 
back to me ! ” 

It was piteous to hear her, and Mrs. Lee 
was greatly distressed. 

A few minutes later the servant who had 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


49 


been sent to Randolph’s returned and told 
Mrs. Lee that Randolph had left the city some 
time ago, and no one knew exactly where he 
was or when he would return. Poor Mrs. Lee! 
She remembered the doctor’s words : “If she 
does not see him, and there is no change for 
the better in a short time, I fear we must pre- 
pare for the worst, ’ ’ and here she was, power- 
less to get Randolph. 

As she rested in the rapidly darkening 
room, wrapt in her sad thoughts, she could 
hear the quick, irregular breathing of Virginia, 
and she felt that at each beat of the heart a 
life was slowly ebbing away, while she could 
but sit and wait and silently pray for mercy 
on her child. 


4 


CHAPTER IV. 


Absence. 


“ Since I did leave the presence of my love, 

Many long weary days I have outworn — ” 

Edmund Spencer. 

Disappointed and despondent, Ralph walked 
from Virginia’s house. Never in his life had 
he felt so blue or low-spirited. 

At first he thought he would go home, then 
he decided to go to the club, but finally, in- 
stead of doing either, he walked on and on 
along the streets in a kind of blind reverie, until 
at last collecting his thoughts, he looked 
around to find himself in a strange part of the 
city. 

Suddenly he was startled by a hurry of feet, 
the clang of bells, and then the rapid rush of the 
engines apprised him of a fire, and he mechan- 
ically followed the crowd, that even at that 
late hour of the night, the word ‘ ‘ fire ’ ’ had 
quickly collected. 

In a few moments the blaze of a burning 
tenement house burst on his vision. In lurid 
tongues the flames darted up in the air, licking 


love: victorious. 


51 


the walls and windows, as if in fiendish 
joy, and sending showers of sparks on those 
below. 

It was a bad fire. The house was old, 
rotten, and crowded with people, and although 
the brave firemen — who always seem to be 
heroes, and never wanting in courage or self- 
sacrifice — made stupendous efibrts, their 
powers seemed as nothing. 

There were still a number of people in the 
burning building, and at the moment that Ran- 
dolph drew near, an attempt was being made 
to rescue them. A hearty shout went up from 
the crowd, as a firemen was seen at one of the 
upper windows, bearing a form in his arms. 
He called frantically for help, as the flames 
quickly drew nearer, and the dense clouds of 
smoke blinded him, so several persons quickly 
ascended the ladder. Before they reached 
him, with a sound like a cannon, the walls 
fell in, and an enormous volume of flame 
belched forth for a moment from the doomed 
building, and then began to die down, as if 
exhausted by its last terrible efibrt. 

There was a groan from the crowd, but 
bravery was not yet over for that night, for in 
a few moments other firemen had pluckily 
mounted the scorching timbers, to try and save 
the body of their comrade. 


52 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


When, shortly afterwards, they found it 
and bore it to the ground, a tremendous cheer 
arose, followed by another, when it was found 
that the man was still living. 

As Randolph pressed forward, he heard the 
surgeon say : “Thank God, we can save his 
life, but he will lose his arm and leg. ’ ’ 

“Poor Jim! What hard luck he seems to 
have I First he lost his wife two weeks ago, 
then his two children became very sick, and 
even now may not live, and now, poor fellow, 
he himself will be crippled for life I ’ ’ ex- 
claimed a fireman. 

Randolph quickly took a bill from his pocket 
and placing it in the hands of the fireman who 
had just spoken, said: “ Use it for Jim and 
his children, ’’ and then rapidly strode away. 

As he retraced his steps, he thought what a 
large world this is. Only a few moments be- 
fore, he had been entirely wrapped up in his 
own bitter disappointment, while here, in 
another part of the city, lives had perished in 
awful agony, and one man, whom he had just 
befriended, had been rendered a cripple for 
life I What a bit of tragedy it was, and yet, if 
he had not been an eye-witness, and had merely 
read the account of the fire in the paper of the 
next morning, it would have caused him 
scarcely a thought. 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


53 


And as he ruminated over these things, he 
made the resolution that he, at least, would 
try to live more in the lives of those around 
him, and if possible be the means of giving 
them some comfort in their misfortunes, or 
doing them some practical good. 

Tired, worn and sad, he reached his bach- 
elor quarters, and climbed the stairs to his 
rooms. 

A man of less character or weaker stuff 
might have indulged in some reckless dissipa- 
tion, but not so Randolph. Hard and bitter 
though his lot seemed, such an idea never 
crossed his mind, but he bore his disap- 
pointment like a true man. 

He sat and thought for awhile, with his 
head bowed in his hands. 

No ! He was not the first man who had 
been a disappointed lover, and although there 
was small comfort in this, still there was some. 

Finally, he resolved to cast aside his exper- 
ience as best he could, and go forth into the 
world, and live and labor there, as many a 
man had done before him. 

To remain at home, he felt he could not do, 
he must have some change to help him drive 
away his sad thoughts. , 

He remembered how he had enjoyed the wil- 
derness of the Adirondacks, and although the 


54 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 


Spring is not the best time there, he determined 
to start for the mountains at once, and see if 
hard work and tramping around would not 
bring him back to his usual cheerful frame of 
mind. 

Quickly acting on this resolve, he wrote 
some letters to a few of his friends, telling them 
of his intention to leave town at once hurriedly 
and for an indefinite time, and then packing 
his traps together, he bade ‘ ‘ farewell ’ ’ to his 
rooms, and in the first train was speeding 
away to the ‘ ‘ great north woods. ’ ’ 

After reaching his destination in the very 
heart of the wilderness, he passed several days 
in going over some of the familiar trails, occa- 
sionally having a shot at some game, and in 
the evenings chatting with the few guides of 
the place. 

On his third day there, he started with one 
guide for the Indian Pass. 

The trail was a very difficult one, but he 
thoroughly enjoyed the hard work and appre- 
ciated the grandeur and wildness of the walk. 
Now they would push their way over a mass 
of slippery moss, luxuriant ferns and trailing 
roots ; then they would pass around some 
giant boulder, half over-grown with vines, or 
they would have to crawl under fallen 
trees. Or perhaps, they would come to the 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 


55 


banks of a mountain stream, which they would 
follow for a while, enjoying the musical gurgle 
and rush of its waters, and then leaving it, as 
the trail ascended to higher ground, they would 
come to some opening in the forest, from 
which they could look at some ravine below. 

As they drew near the Pass, the ground 
steadily ascended, becoming rougher and 
steeper at every step, until it became very 
hard work to go forw^ard. 

At last, however, after some rough climbing, 
towards noon, they reached the head of Indian 
Pass, and going out on the famous Summit 
Rock, they threw themselves on the ground, 
and gazed in silence on the lovely sight. 

On three sides of the giant rock on which 
they were, the descent was precipitous, going 
down abruptly to the Pass or defile below, a 
perfect maze of forest, fallen rocks and trees, 
and the debris of many a mountain storm. On 
one side of this, opposite the rock on which 
they reclined, was Wall-face Mountain, rising 
sheer up some thousands of feet, looking like 
a mighty sentinel over the pass. 

In front of them lay a valley — one unbroken 
forest, without a sign of civilization, not a 
house, boat or sign of a fire, nor anything to 
show the existence of man — extending to a 
little lake in the far distance. 


56 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


Clustered around this valley, were ranges of 
mountains, rising peak above peak, until the 
purple of the farthest ones blended in with soft 
colorings of the sky. 

Randolph was truly in the midst of the 
wildemesss ! 

Here, he thought, he was away from the 
world, from mankind, amid the wonders of 
nature. 

Here was peace, here was rest, here was joy 
and contentment in the perfect silence that 
reigned. 

No wordly sounds intruded here — man 
laboring at his work, the bustle, the noise, 
and the rush of the busy cities, the varied 
passions that move the possessors, to good or 
bad — no, all these were blotted out. And with 
the sense of utter isolation, came the sense of 
the Infinite. He felt the nearness of the Crea- 
tor of those forests and those mountains. With 
the thought of the distance from man, came 
the appreciation of the nearness to God, and 
filled with these musings, a feeling of deep 
happiness came over him, and in silence he 
continued to gaze at the beautiful picture be- 
fore his eyes. Presently, his feelings changed. 
His guide had fallen asleep in the sun, 
and complete silence still rested over all things. 
How would it seem to be always alone in 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


57 


such a place, with no one to talk to, no one in 
whom to confide his joys or his sorrows — utter 
solitude ! Ah ! It was pleasant for a while, 
for a few weeks with some loved companion, 
to indulge in this rest and isolation, but for 
the whole of a life — no ! It was wrong, one 
needed the companionship of others, he needed 
the society of man to bring out his noblest 
thoughts, to stimulate him to deeds of kind- 
ness, and love and heroism. 

And as he thought this, it seemed as if the 
silence had suddenly become oppressive ; as if 
the surrounding mountains were pressing in 
on him to crush him ; as if the very forests 
were growing around him to cut off* his escape 
forever. 

Springing to his feet, he shook off this feel- 
ing — the result of his silent meditation — and 
calling his guide, with a parting look at the 
lovely picture, they turned homeward. 

He now wished to leave the wilderness, and 
he could not be persuaded to remain longer. 

Several days later he was speeding away on 
a train bound for the far west. By chance he 
met a friend on the cars, a man he had not 
seen for years, though he was formerly one of 
his college chums. 

On graduating, Charlie Brown had imme- 
diately started west, and Randolph had lost 


58 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


sight of him. He was now living on a large 
cattle ranch, which he had recently purchased. 

It was not hard for Brown to persuade Ran- 
dolph to go with him to his place, and when 
in Brown’s comfortable bachelor house, sur- 
rounded by many mementos of their college 
life, existence did not seem utterly cheerless 
after all. 

Far from any large town, with a few rough 
fellows and their families for neighbors, their 
life was of the most unconventional kind, and 
its perfect freedom was a great charm and 
attraction for Randolph. Brown was never at 
rest. One day he would take Ralph for a long 
gallop over the prairie, or show him how to 
herd cattle, or else tramp with him to the post 
office ten miles away, or go to a neighboring 
stream to swim. 

This was most beneficial to Randolph, and 
he was soon in fine physical health, which 
kept him well mentally, and prevented him 
thinking too much of his disappointment. 

Still, his friend noticed that he often seemed 
absent-minded and sometimes sad, but think- 
ing it was none of his concern, he never asked 
Ralph about it, although he often wondered 
at the cause. 

One night, after a long ride, they were sit- 
ting smoking, before a huge fire of logs in the 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


59 


large fire-place. The wood crackled finely, 
the sparks flew up in golden showers, and the 
ruddy flames, flashing brightly forth, lighted 
the faces of the two old chums, who sat and 
gazed contentedly at the blaze. 

As the smoke of their pipes curled in little 
clouds around their heads, Randolph and 
Brown, happy in that pleasant fatigue result- 
ant from hard exercise, began to talk in the 
confidential fashion of their college life, and 
repeatedly laughed quietly at the relation of 
some half-forgotten joke, or at some jolly re- 
membrance of friends long since drifted apart. 

Finally Ralph mentioned hearing a rumor 
some years back, of Charlie having been 
very devoted to a certain girl one winter. He 
said he had never heard of it since, so he had 
come to the conclusion it was merely a joke on 
his bachelor life, but now he thought he 
would ask him. 

Charlie Brown was silent for a few moments, 
and then with a queer, droll look on his face, 
said: “Well, old man, I thought that my 
friends had forgotten that story long ago. It 
often makes me laugh to think of it, and how 
nearly I came to making a fool of myself— that 
is, a worse fool than I did, for that was bad 
enough. You see that I am not a deep or a 
romantic fellow, and I am not usually ver}^ 


6o 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


much impressed by the arts and winning ways 
of the fair ones, but this time I was fairly taken 
in and done up “ brown.” If you would like 
to hear the story, I will tell j^ou it the best I 
can, but remember I am not much at relating 
such tales.” 

‘‘ I should enjoy hearing it very much, if it 
is not a tender point, ’ ’ said Randolph. 

‘ ‘ Tender point ! Bless you, no ! There is 
no tender point about it. The only thing I 
fear is that you will think me an awful fool. 
But, anyway, we can laugh over it. Fill your 
pipe again, old chap, and brace yourself ‘to 
listen to my tale of woe. ’ ’ ’ 


CHAPTER V. 


Beware the Charmer. 


" I know a maiden fair to see ; 

Take care ! 

She can both false and friendly be 
Beware 1 Beware I 
Trust her not 
She is fooling thee 1 ” 

Translation by Longfellow. 

‘ ‘ The first part of what I am going to tell 
you, is rather sad,” began Brown, “and is 
very different from what happened to me, 
which really is almost ridiculous. Perhaps you 
know how I am continually meeting all kinds 
of people, good, bad and indifferent, and how 
it is one of my delights to get to know them 
well, and as it were, to study human nature in 
their characters. 

Well, one summer, I had occasion to remain 
during most of the hot spell in New York, and 
while it was necessary for me to be there, I 
had often much time to myself, and sometimes 
found the hours drag frightfully. 

One day, when I was aimlessly walking 
along the street, whom should I meet but old 


62 


1.0 VB VICTORIOUS. 


Rennels — remember him? He was always a 
bright fellow, and at college had carried off a 
good many honors, as well as being very suc- 
cessful in athletics. 

He was a popular fellow, too, and I remem- 
ber how some of the class seemed to think it 
such a pity when he made up his mind to enter 
the Church. Of course, to you, Ralph, this is 
about the finest thing a man could do, but the 
fellows didn’t think so. 

From that day until the time I met him on 
the street, I had never seen him — almost seven 
years I think — and not being much of a Chris- 
tian myself, I confess I did not keep myself 
posted as to the new men in the Church, and 
had consequently heard nothing of Rennels. 
I was really very glad to see him, for he was 
always a pleasant sort of a chap, and then I 
thought I might have some fun chaffing him. 
He said that he was bound for his rooms, and 
asked me to go with him, which I very gladly 
did. 

On the way, he told me a little of his life 
for the past few years. 

On being admitted to Holy Orders he had 
taken charge of a mission church, to stay there 
until he obtained a better parish. This mission 
was in the worst quarter of the city, and Ren- 
nels had to work amongst the poor, the dirty 


I.OVK VICTORIOUS. 


63 

and the wretched, day after day, spending 
almost his entire time in their midst. 

He said at first it was very tough and dis- 
couraging work, but that he felt it to be his 
duty, and on that account was contented. 

The wretched lot of these poor people so 
impressed him, that he said, after the first few 
months he determined to sacrifice any chance 
of distinction or preferment that he might 
obtain from having a rich parish, and instead, 
to devote his entire life in this field. 

Rennels’s rooms were up on the third floor of 
a shabby, but clean-looking building near the 
poorest section of the town . 

I can see it now. The room in which we 
seated ourselves was small, containing only a 
table, a sofa, some chairs and book-cases, all 
of the simplest kind. The cases were filled 
with books, not only on theology, but on all 
subjects, for Rennels was always a great reader. 

Scattered around the room were a few old 
college trophies, but the room was very bare- 
looking. On one wall was a large Crucifix, 
and over the fire-place was a large photograph 
of the old college grounds, and below it a 
small likeness of a girl’s head. The other 
walls were utterly bare. 

Rennels would suit your views, Randolph, 
for he is what I term an extreme churchman. 


64 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


very high, and like you he calls himself a 
Catholic, and talks of the schisms of Protest- 
ants, and the errors of Rome. 

As he sat in his chair, with his cleanly cut 
features, smoothly shaven face, and his 
severe clerical dress, he reminded me of some 
priest of the olden days sitting in his cell. 

He spoke of his work, and told me of how 
happy he felt in having given up all idea of a 
rich parish and church honors, for which he said 
there were plenty of candidates, but compar- 
atively few for the work among the very poor. 
Then he told me of his many disappointments 
and discouragements in trying to raise these 
people — all of which was related in the most 
modest manner — and as I listened to him, I 
thought that he would have been just such 
stuff as the early martyrs were made of. 

But now I’ll let you know why I have told 
you so much about him, and I am sure you will 
agree with me that Rennels is certainly a noble 
fellow. You may remember, a few moments 
ago, that I mentioned a picture of a girl’s head 
that hung under the photograph of his college. 

It was that of a young girl, probably 
eighteen or nineteen years old, very pretty but 
evidently very self-willed, and much of a flirt. 

Feeling interested in it, not only from due 
regard to the fair sex, but because it was the 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


65 


only picture of the kind in the room, I asked 
Rennels about it. His face for a moment 
clouded over, and I felt sorry that I had asked 
him the question, but he reassured me by tell- 
ing me that he had met her shortly after he 
had left college. 

She had greatly fascinated him, and he 
became very devoted to her. She seemed to 
encourage him, and after he had commenced 
his work in his mission parish, she appeared to 
be much interested in what he was doing. 

One night, very weary and tired, for he had 
spent most of the day visiting some sick per- 
sons, he called on her. In their talk, he hap- 
pened to tell her where he had been, and on 
doing so, he was startled to see the look of 
fear and disgust that crossed her face, as she 
said: “Do you mean to say that you have 
been to see a fever patient, and that a poor 
dirty person living in a filthy court, and then 
come to call on me ! ” 

Poor Rennels was dreadfully surprised and 
hurt, but he did not plead any excuse, merely 
saying that what he had done was his duty, 
and that he was very sorry that she did not 
wish to see him. 

What else was said, Rennels did not tell 
me, except that he had th^n and there ex- 
plained to her what he had meant by his 
5 


66 


lovk victorious. 


continued calling on her. She told him that she 
liked him very much, but would never consent 
to marry him, unless he would promise to 
obtain what she termed ‘ ‘ a respectable parish, ’ ’ 
and stop going about with the poor and the 
dirty. 

It must have been a great temptation and 
trial for Rennels, but he stood to his colors, 
and told her that he could not give up what 
he felt to be his duty, and then they parted 
forever, she to go out in the gay world, he to 
return to his work in the slums, more firmly 
resolved to devote himself heart and soul to 
his Mission there. 

When he told me of what a trial it was, and 
followed with a loving forgiveness to and 
apology for the girl so unworthy of him, his face 
lighted up so beautifully at the account of his 
self-sacrifice — which, however, he never seemed 
to consider — that he looked to me like a saint 
or angel. I have never seen him since. 

Now for my experience : a few weeks after- 
wards, I was at a garden party, and among 
other people I met a Miss Mason. She was a 
very pretty blonde, with dark eyes, very lively 
and vivacious, and as I then thought, about 
the jolliest girl I had ever met. On a few 
moments acquaintance we seemed to know 
each other well, and when, after a long walk 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


67 


about the grounds, we parted, I had obtained 
permission to call on her, she having granted 
it in a most bewitching way. I met her father 
and mother too, and they seemed charming 
persons. 

One call succeeded another, and before many 
weeks I was, as they say, ‘very badly gone.’ 

That fall they went abroad, and having 
nothing better to do, and being rather flush of 
funds, I followed them, and managed to meet 
Miss Mason and her family in Paris and 
Venice. 

Sightseeing and the opera in Paris, and 
many a moonlight trip over the canals of 
Venice with the Masons, only served to make 
me more “spoony” over Miss Mason, and I 
have no doubt at times I was very silly. Then 
back again to America, where the climax of 
my foolishness was reached at Bar Harbor. 

She certainly seemed to like me, and encour- 
aged me in every way to continue my attentions. 

One day I took Miss Mason out paddling, 
and everything seemed to go wrong. You 
know that I am not much of a canoeist, and 
on this day, at every stroke, I sprinkled Miss 
Mason with salt water, wetting her dress. Of 
course, I would ask her pardon, and she would 
say that it didn’t really matter, but I saw that 
it did and that she did not like it. 


68 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 


Then we landed on one of the islands and I 
left the canoe, safely beached, as I thought. 

After a pleasant walk, we returned to our 
landing place and looked for the canoe. 
There, almost a quarter of a mile from shore, 
it was, drifting farther away every moment, 
on the ebb tide. 

What should I do? Miss Mason said I 
must swim for it, which I refused to do. Then 
she told me that I was no man, but a coward, 
and I replied that perhaps she was right, but 
that all the same I preferred being imprisoned 
on an island to drowning a few feet from 
shore. Then she became angry and I never 
wish to see another girl in a rage ! 

Such sarcasm as I endured I hope never to 
hear again. I became angry and rude myself, 
upon which Miss Mason began to cry and I felt 
like an utter fool. 

The afternoon slowly passed and yet there 
we were still on the island. Usually boats 
and canoes are constantly passing, but on this 
occasion not one appeared. Miss Mason 
refused to talk, so that it was a frightfully 
dull time. 

When almost dark, I saw a fisherman’s dory 
rounding the point, to go to the lobster traps 
near by, and hailing him, he came and took us 
to the shore. 


I.OVB VICTORIOUS. 


69 


For several days after that I did not see 
Miss Mason, but was well-nigh driven dis- 
tracted by the jokes at my expense, made by 
my good-natured friends over the canoe 
episode. Finally I did see her, and somehow 
or other we patched up a peace, and matters 
went on pretty much as before. 

Shortl}^ after that, we had the usual tourna- 
ment at Bar Harbor, and unintentionally I 
gave Miss Mason the impression that I was 
quite skillful at that sort of thing — anyway, 
when the day came, she made a number of 
bets (she is not very particular about such 
things) on what I would do, and unfortunately 
for her and me, she lost them all. 

That was bad enough, but when in the 
evening, at a dance that was given in honor 
of the event, I upset a glass of champagne 
over her gown, it was awful ! It happened on 
the porch, where we had been having a cozy 
little tete-a-tete. 

We could hear the soft notes of the waltz 
coming from the ball-room, rather faint and 
indistinct but all the more entrancing on that 
account. When supper came, we decided to 
remain outside. As I brought her the cham- 
pagne, and went to hand it to her, some one 
passing accidentally touched my arm, and 
away went the glass- 


70 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 


The man apologised and disappeared, while 
I stammered out some words to the effect that 
I was so very sorry, for I loved her so much, 
and so on. You should have heard her laugh ! 
Her laughing, however, drove my sentiment 
all away and in the most matter-of-fact man- 
ner, I told her that since I had made so many 
mistakes, why should she not make a mistake 
in her turn, and take me ‘ for better or worse ! ’ 

‘And so,’ she replied ‘the last state would 
be worse than the first. No ! Mr. Brown, I 
could never love a man who spoils one’s nice 
gowns with salt water and then with cham- 
pagne, who loses canoes and makes a sight of 
himself in a tournament. Do not ever mention 
this subject again. I am very sorry, but I tell 
you frankly you are not my style, and are not 
in it.’ 

Oh ! How I then hated slang ! 

I left Bar Harbor, vowing that if I ever made 
a similar fool of myself, my friends should be 
welcome to all of the fun they could get from 
it. It was not until then that I made a strange 
discovery, and now I cannot possibly un- 
derstand why I did not find it out before. 

This girl — Miss Mason — silly, frivolous and 
coquettish, but very pretty as she is, was the 
very one who so fascinated Rennels, and while 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 7 1 

affecting to be so much interested in him, had 
finally sneered at his work among the poor. 

I can see the infatuation for a happy-go- 
lucky chap like myself, but for Rennels, with 
his deep and sober ideas, it seems hard to ex- 
plain. I have never seen Miss Mason since, 
but I firmly believe that whether she ever 
really liked Rennels, that with me, she was 
simply playing from the first. 

Well, old man, we fellows will sometimes be 
fools, and I am neither the first nor the last. 
There is one sure thing to my mind, how- 
ever, and that is that a bachelor’s life is the 
one for me and that I am a most fortunate 
fellow to have escaped the fair charmer’s 
clutches.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


Love to the Rescue- 


“ Not from the whole wide world I choose thee, 

Sweetheart, light of the land and the sea ! 

The wide, wide world could not enclose thee. 

For thou art the whole wide world to me 1 ” 

Richard Watson Gilder. 

Randolph watched Brown for a few moments 
before he spoke. Then he said, smiling : “It 
is indeed a queer sort of a story, Charlie, and 
I think you tell it in a very funny way, but 
may I say it — I fear, old man, that you think 
more of it than you wish to have me know, and 
that it was really a sad blow to you. Am I 
not right?” 

Charlie picked up a pair of immense tongs, 
and poked the logs with them, and then said : 
“ It hurt me, old fellow, a little, but that is all 
past, and now I laugh at it all. My little spark 
of romance (you see I have some after all) 
sometimes makes me think of what might 
have been, if I had had that experience, 
or part of it rather, with a different kind of 
a girl. But, changing the subject, do you 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


73 


remember old Smith, who used to row in the 
crew at college ? He is now a doctor — one of 
those persons you Eastern fellows have to kill 
you off ! To-day I received a long letter from 
him, in which he tells me how much he 
loves his profession. I wonder what made 
him enter college so late ! He was only two 
classes ahead of us, and yet he must be many 
years older. I think he must be in love now 
— the dear old fellow — for he writes that he is 
very much worried about some girl, who is 
dangerously ill with brain fever or something. 
Ever meet her out, Ralph, or hear of her, 
Virginia Eee — Why ! What the deuce ails 
you ? ’ ’ 

“Virginia Eke ! exclaimed Randolph, but 
his voice sounded hollow and hoarse : ‘ ‘ Quick, 
is she really dying ? Tell me again what 
Smith said ! ’’ 

“ Good gracious, man, what the thunder is 
the matter. I tell you of a girl, and you look 
as if you saw a ghost ! Are you in love 
with her ? ’ ’ 

Ralph did not answer, but sat with his 
face hidden in his hands. 

Brown hardly knew what to do ; he repeated 
what the doctor had written, and then in his 
kind, rough way tried to make out that it 
must be a joke, a mistake, the wrong name. 


74 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


Presently, Randolph, raising his head, said 
he must leave at once, and go East without the 
loss of a moment. Brown did not know what 
to make of it, and inwardly blamed himself for 
the whole trouble ; he tried to dissuade Ralph 
from leaving, but nothing that he could say, 
could change him in his determination. 

A few days afterwards, the long Western ex- 
press drew up in the depot, and among the first 
to leap hurriedly from the train was Randolph. 

No one ever knew what that ride homeward 
had been to him — he could not force himself to 
speak of it. 

The long hours seemed to drag as ages, as he 
sat alone, buried in his thoughts. He blamed 
himself for ever having left Virginia, for his 
stupidity in accepting a girl’s “ No” as final, 
and all the time the terrible fear oppressed him 
that he might reach the city too late, that he 
might never again hear her voice in welcome 
or see her alive. 

Then, as if in review, the many little pas- 
sages in their life seemed to pass before his 
eyes. He saw Virginia at her own tea, mak- 
ing her debut in society, dressed in white, and 
holding branches of red roses that vied with 
her own cheeks in their lovely coloring ; he 
saw her at dinners and balls, dignified, gracious 
and charming in dance or in conversation, 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


75 


exemplifying the fact that a girl of fine 
character can go out in the world, and instead 
of being spoiled and ruined by the shallowness 
and frivolity of society, may move as a model 
to elevate it ; he saw Virginia in her church 
and guild work, and in her labors of love among 
the poor, to whom she seemed to bring gladness 
and sunshine ; and as he thought of all her 
goodness and true womanliness, his heart 
ached within him, to think that perhaps his 
hurried departure might be the means of end- 
ing her hfe and ruining his. 

With the greatest anxiety he approached 
Mrs. Lee’s house. As he drew near, he no- 
ticed the tan spread on the street in front, and 
he gained courage from the sight of the wide 
open shutters, with the sun shining brightly 
on the windows. 

On ringing the bell, the servant who 
answered, said that Miss Lee was no better, 
but was certainly no worse. ‘ ‘ She is not 
delirious now, sir, but they say she is becoming 
weaker, ’ ’ and the tears stood in the faithful old 
fellow’s eyes. 

Ralph was ushered into the parlor, and as 
he waited the coming of Mrs. Lee, like a flash 
the remembrance of his last visit there and 
all of the events of the past few months passed 
before his mind, and perhaps no one ever 


76 


I.OVK VICTORIOUS. 


regretted a hasty action more than he did that 
of his. 

Presently Mrs. Lee entered, looking rather 
worn and thin from her worriment and nursing. 
She greeted Randolph most cordially, but 
had only been talking to him a few moments 
when Doctor Smith came in, and insisted on 
having Randolph admitted at once to see the 
sick girl. 

It was with the feeling of entering some 
sacred place, that Randolph stepped into her 
room, where Virginia was lying in bed propped 
up by pillows. 

No one ever knew exact^^ what was said, 
and perhaps the lovers themselves were hardly 
aware of all that was spoken, or rather whis- 
pered, in the silence of the sick-room. 

All of Virginia’s girlish coldness and 
maidenly reserve had departed, and with the 
tears rolling down her cheeks, she allowed 
Randolph to clasp her in his strong arms, 
while she murmured amid her sobs : ‘ ‘ Oh ! 

Ralph! You do not know — you never will — 
how I have longed to see you, and how glad I 
am at last to know that you are here and have 
forgiven me for sending you away as I did I ’ ’ 

She would hardl}^ let him go, but the doctor 
finally insisted on having his way, and wearied 
from her excitement, weakness and joy at 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 77 

again seeing Randolph, she fell into a long 
restful sleep. 

From that moment her recovery was very 
rapid, and in a few weeks she was able to go 
out, anji then succeeded a time of almost per- 
fect happiness. 

There was to be no long engagement or de- 
lay, and in a few weeks more they were to be 
made man and wife. Randolph and Virginia 
were consequently much together, happy in 
seeing so much of each other, and happy in 
that absorbing occupation of furnishing the 
little house they were to occupy, and in ar- 
ranging the many little details of their wedding, 
which was to take place in the church they 
both were so fond of, with all the solemn ritual 
and ceremony of the “ Episcopal ” Church. 


CHAPTER VII. 


O Dulcis Amor! 


“ Nothing is sweeter than iove ; nothing 
Stronger, nothing higher, nothing 
Broader, nothing more pleasant, 

Nothing fuller or better in heaven 
And in earth ; for love is born of 
God, and can rest only in God, above 
All things created.” 

Thomas k Kempis. 

One lovely afternoon in spring, when but a 
few more days remained of their engagement, 
Randolph and Virginia went for a long walk 
along the shady lanes of the neighboring 
country. 

Well it is said by the poet that spring is the 
time when young man’s (and young woman’s 
too) ‘ ‘ fancy lightly turns to thoughts of 
love, ” for it seems teeming with love, and all 
nature as well as mankind appears to feel it. 

It is the time when enchantment seems to 
lurk in the very air ; when spirits and fairies 
weave their spells ; when the earth puts forth 
her greatest charms as if to show that it is love 
which is the cause and which controls every- 
thing. 


LOVE VICTORIOUS. 


79 


The lovers on this fair afternoon seemed to 
feel this influence as never before. The trees 
already laden with fragrant blossoms sighed 
in the gentle breeze — soft whispers of love ; 
the air was heavy with the rich perfume of the 
flowers growing so plentifully around — their 
fragrance seeming sweet-smelling incense at 
love’s altars ; each bud and blossom, each 
branch and twig seemed to caress each other, 
as they nodded in the breeze and strove to dis- 
play their charms ; each bird seemed warbling 
its tenderest lay of love and happiness ; the 
very insects seemed to hum with supreme joy 
and contentment, for truly all nature was 
breathing the music of love. 

For awhile Randolph and Virginia walked 
in silence, gazing at the beautiful things that 
God, through nature, had spread on every 
side, and they gave themselves up to those 
blissful dreamy thoughts that never are so 
sweet as when the thinker is filled with the de- 
votion of an unselfish love and the mental 
picture of an ideal life. 

Choosing some pretty, half-hidden spot, 
formed by a little clump of shrubbery, they 
seated themselves where, unseen by the chance 
passers-by, they could enjoy the beautiful 
scene, as the Italians say, “J)olcefar niente” 
(happy doing nothing). 


LOVK VICTORIOUS. 


8o 

Ralph plucked a rose from a bush growing 
near, and picking it to pieces petal by petal, 
leaf by leaf, said to Virginia: “It seems to 
me that life is often an existence of misunder- 
standings and mistakes. Here, for instance 
we are — you and I — now happy in the thought 
of our love for each other, which we feel as- 
sured of, while we rejoice in the perfect knowl- 
edge and understanding that we have of one 
another, and yet scarcely two months ago, you 
were lingering at the point of death, brought 
on b}^ worr>' and disappointment, and I was 
living a miserable existence in the far West — 
all because of a mistake. Was it not silly that 
this ever should have happened? Aware of 
a man’s love and admiration for her, and know- 
ing that in her heart to some degree she 
returned it, why should not a girl gracefully 
surrender and admit all of this, instead 
of feigning surprise and coldness, and finally 
even refusing the man of her heart?” and 
saying this, Ralph gave a sharp dig at the 
ground with his foot, as if the recollection of 
past misunderstandings still annoyed him. 

Virginia turned to him with one of her most 
winning smiles, and with a pretty arch expres- 
sion she said, as she lovingly looked into his 
eyes : “ Ralph, dear, like all of your sex, you 
look at things entirely from a man’s point of 


I.OVE VICTORIOUS. 


8i 


view. You forget a girl’s training. It would 
never do for her to show her feelings, for 
she might be mistaken, or even if right in 
what she thinks, even then it is sometimes 
necessary for her to conceal her love, and 
almost to dissemble. 

Then too, often when she is asked the ques- 
tion at last, she may be taken unawares, or 
may be too frightened to know what to say, 
or may for the moment feel that it is impossible 
for her then to give herself to the man who asks. 

Just as the sea, that combination of contrary 
purposes, sometimes beats and thunders against 
the shore it often loves to caress. 

But, Ralph, let us forget, and look forward 
to our future life here, with anticipations as 
bright as this lovely scene. And we will never 
have any more misunderstandings, will we 
Ralph, but will try and be happy, no matter 
what may be in store for us ? 

They say that true happiness only comes out 
of suffering, and that which I may have caused 
us both, even Nature seems to know that you 
forgive, Ralph, for look, she now is smiling at 
Love Victorious.” 


6 


A Romance of Eden. 


F ar up on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean 
where the sea makes a big sweep inland, 
and there chafes and frets as it beats 
against the mass of solid rock that holds it in 
check, is the town of Kden. 

Now dignified by a far better known name, 
and in the summer fiooded with the fashionable 
society of the cities, it was once a quiet, simple 
village where life passed in calm uneventfulness. 
With its modest white houses overlooking the 
bay, dotted with many islands whose rocky 
sides contrasted with the bristly pine trees that 
densely covered their crests ; with the superb 
view of the distant mainland, sweeping in one 
grand curve about the blue waters of the bay, 
and with the purplish mountains fading away 
in the clouds, the town might well be called 
Bden. 

On clear afternoons the villagers used to 
stroll out on the walk along the cliffs, and there 
watch the incoming tides and listen to the 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 83 

murmur of the sea, loving in their way its 
soft music. 

Among these villagers, mostly carpenters 
and sailors and fishermen, was an old gray- 
haired man, chiefly noted for being the self- 
appointed guardian of a man and a girl, both 
slightly over the twenties. 

A certain mystery surrounded these two, and 
all that the villagers could ever learn was that 
they were waifs from the wreck of a ship that 
went ashore there years ago. The boy had 
been named Raleigh, the name of the lost ship; 
the girl Virginia, the place from which the ship 
hailed. 

Living in such a beautiful spot their minds 
and ideals were singularly high, for the sea is 
said to inspire noble aspirations in all. 

Their adopted father, if such he might be 
called, was rich, as things went in Eden, and 
these two had everything the heart could desire, 
and having little to employ their time, were 
wont to pass hours together in wandering over 
the island, revelling in its beauty, building air- 
castles, and dreaming visions of what they 
should do some day in the wide world about 
them. 

They were generally accounted to be lovers, 
and their constant companionship excited no 
comment in a village, where society was 


84 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


limited, and where gossip was kindly, and peo- 
ple bothered little about others. 

Sometimes they speculated as to whom they 
were, and how they came to be on the same 
ship, but as they had no clue, their wondering 
resulted in nothing. But Raleigh, deep down 
in his heart determined to find out, and as he 
longed to travel South, he decided if he ever 
did so, to try and discover their origin. 

Virginia was a girl of considerable depth, and 
she had very marked ideas as to what a girl’s 
life should be, but these principally consisted 
in accepting the ordinary routine of every day, 
and doing little acts of goodness and unselfish- 
ness that brighten the lives of others, and show 
all how a really fine girl could better and ele- 
vate the people about her. 

Raleigh, on the other hand, was ambitious. 
He wished to make a name for himself, and be 
talked about and praised for his ability or 
talents, and he knew this could never be 
brought about in the quiet little town of Eden. 

So when their self-appointed guardian died, 
he determined to go for a trip to the South, 
Virginia having gone to live with an aunt 
of their deceased guardian. She tried to dis- 
suade Raleigh but without avail, and one day 
he started on his long-thought-over trip, in his 
little schooner manned by two of his friends. 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


85 


For awhile everything seemed to smile upon 
Raleigh, for the weather was delightful, and 
the winds that carried his little schooner south- 
ward, seemed to be whispering to him, what a 
great man he would be some day. 

Day by day they sailed on, continually being 
passed by steamers and vessels they might 
have taken, but Raleigh preferred his little 
boat, which too seemed to savour more of ad- 
venture and romance. The coast that he was 
passing was at this time, for it was many years 
ago, comparatively unsettled, and with its 
stem barrier of rocks offered a most inhospi- 
table landing place. 

But he was not destined to reach the big 
cities of Boston or New York, of which he had 
so often read, for one night when near a most 
bleak, dreary, but sandy shore, they were over- 
taken by a frightful gale. 

Raleigh was at the tiller at the time, but so 
suddenly did the storm come, that in an instant 
the wafer was raging about them, and an enor- 
mous wave had come upon and had swamped 
their little boat. 

Raleigh was carried away from the wreck, 
and gave himself up for lost, as with the waters 
thundering in his ears he lost consciousness. 
He never knew how he reached the shore, which 
was near, but when he came to, he found he 


86 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


was on a little beach of sand, hemmed in from 
the interior by giant rocks or dense forests. 
The sun was shining brightly, so he decided 
to explore the neighboring cliifs. 

Climbing one, he saw to his consternation 
that he was on an uninhabited portion of the 
mainland, where there was not a sign of a 
house, boat or other mark of civilization or 
man— nothing but rocks in front of him and a 
gloomy forest at his back. 

So here then was an end to his dreams ! 
Here he was, still alive, to be sure, but utterly 
helpless, on a barren shore, with a wilderness 
of trees behind him ! 

Some men would have been appalled at the 
outlook, but not so Raleigh, for he was a brave 
fellow, and instead of giving away to puerile or 
useless regrets at his fate, he pluckily started 
to see what could be done. 

Fortunately some things had drifted ashore. 
He found a knife, such as sailors use, and 
strange to say a gun and cartridges in a leather 
case, still dry inside. 

He decided to waste no time, but take his 
bearings as well as he could, strike south 
through the forest, in a direction he knew 
towns must be. 

He had not gone far, however, before he 
reached a deep crevice or canon in the rock. 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 87 

which cut off all passage that way, so there was 
no help for it, but to make a circuit around. 

That night he had to camp for the night, 
hungry, for he had nothing to eat but a few 
crackers in his pocket. The loneliness of the 
forest awed him, and the doleful sighing of the 
wind made it anything but a pleasant place in 
which to be. He was almost afraid to go to 
sleep, so he thought he would try to rest until 
daybreak by leaning his tired body against a 
tree, and with gun at his side keep watch. 

In those early days these woods of the Maine 
coast were still the haunts of the wild beasts, 
and bears constantly prowled about. 

Tired, weary, lonely, Raleigh sat there, but 
harder and harder did he find it to keep awake, 
and heavier and heavier did his eyes feel, until 
at last, nature asserted her rule, and Raleigh 
slept. 

Presently his body stirred uneasily, and he 
awoke, and looked vaguely around, only to see 
two fieiy eyes of some creature that was crawl- 
ing towards him, and was already almost in the 
act of springing. Snatching his gim, he pulled 
the trigger as the creature flung itself at him. 
A snarl and a cry of pain, and a large wild-cat 
lay writhing on the ground at his feet. A 
well directed blow of his gun-stock killed it, 
but there was no more sleep for that night. 


88 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


With ears alive to the faintest sound, he sat 
and listened to the various murmurs and noises 
of the neighboring forest, and thought of Bden 
and Virginia, and cursed his folly at leaving, 
until the dawn began to brighten the sky. 

Again was he on his way, but it was many 
days before he found his way to a settlement, 
where at last a strange surprise awaited him. 
As Raleigh gained a little fishing village and 
told his story, an old, very distinguished- 
looking man approached. 

He looked at Raleigh critically and then sud- 
denly became excited and turning on him, in- 
quired how he came by that compass he wore 
at his chain. 

“ It was about my neck when I was saved 
from a wreck years ago, ” answered Raleigh 
wonderingly. 

‘ ‘ Saved from a wreck ! Do you mean the 
Raleigh? ” asked the old gentleman still more 
excitedly. 

“Yes, do you know of her ? “ said Raleigh, 
beginning to feel a slight interest in the queer 
old fellow. 

“Know of her! Know of her! Why boy, 
I sailed for years on her, and only left her 
here on her last trip when she came in here 
for a few hours. The captain who owned that 
compass was my best friend. I often sailed as 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 89 

a passenger until the ship was lost and my boy 
was drowned ! ’ ’ 

The villagers here looked sympathizingly at 
the old man. Could here be the unravelment 
of the mystery of his birth, thought Raleigh ? 
He looked at the white locks of the old man, 
his neat dress, and queer appearance, but withal 
he had the unmistakable air of a gentleman. 

“ Tell me about it, sir, will you, and then I 
will tell you what I know of the wreck.” 

The story was soon told : how the old gen- 
tleman, John Wentworth, had owned the ship, 
and how he had sailed with his little son in her 
over and over again. How on the last trip, he 
had been ill and had landed at the little 
fishing village, and had allowed his beautiful 
little girl and his son with the captain go 
without him, after first giving the captain his 
little watch-chain compass. Then the ship had 
been wrecked and he had understood all had 
been drowned, and heart-broken, he had never 
left the little fishing village, but there had lived 
and waited, hoping that some day he would 
hear that the news was untrue and that his 
boy was alive ! 

Raleigh listened, hardly able to conceal his 
excitement, for here, beyond a doubt, was his 
own father! 

He in his turn told his story, the old gentle- 


90 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


man wild with joy and young again with hap- 
piness. 

At the conclusion, old Mr. Wentworth 
clasped Raleigh by the hand and hugged him 
and did many a foolish but natural act of affec- 
tion, crying: “My boy, my own boy! I 
knew you couldn’t be dead. We’ll go back to 
Kden, and take our money there, and we’ll 
marry Virginia at once I ’ ’ 

(A stranger might have thought from his 
remark, he as well as Raleigh meant to marry 
Virginia !) 

Nothing would do but they must start at 
once — he would not listen for a moment to Ral- 
eigh going to the big city south, to seek a 
name for himself, and truth to say, Raleigh 
was not now very anxious to do so. 

He was proud of the old gentleman, his 
newly-found father, and he wished Virginia 
to know the happy news. 

In a little boat they started. Soon the bold 
cliffs of this Mount Desert Island rose on their 
sight, and never did the view bring greater joy 
than it did to Raleigh. So impatient were 
they that they could hardly wait for the boat 
to reach their haven, Eden, but longed for 
wings to fly thither. 

Eike a little bird, the boat bravely breasted 
the swells of the broad Atlantic, darting over 
the waves, every instant getting nearer home. 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


91 


But bad fortune seemed to await them, for 
down came the rushing, angry clouds from the 
mountain, and as the wind freshened, was 
soon blowing a fierce gale. Darkness fell upon 
the scene, and all was black save when vivid 
flashes of lightning darted across the sky. 

How the wind howled and stormed. The 
poor old gentleman cowered and prayed in the 
cabin, while Raleigh stood at the tiller, bewail- 
ing his foolishness in having left Eden. The 
winds seemed to speak to him : ‘ ‘ Never, 

never will you see Eden again.” 

Suddenly a sharp snap, as of breaking wood, 
and away went the mast, blown clean away by 
the wind. Raleigh’s courage left him, for he 
felt that all was up, but never for a moment 
did he lose his presence of mind or relinquish 
his hold of the tiller, trying to steer. He 
feared the boat, now sail-less, would be filled by 
the incoming waves, and he knew he was 
near the rocks. If he could but pass those, 
they would have a chance, for they must be 
near the town. 

Fizz ! What was that ? Ah ! a rocket, 

another one, and then by the bright light cast 
by its flight, he saw for a moment a little group 
on the shore ahead, where there was a sandy 
beach, and in the . front a young girl, bravely 
holding a rocket in her hand. 


92 


A ROMANCE OF EDEN. 


Yes, there was Virginia, doing as brave a 
thing as is done in the wide world, doing 
her best to light the way for some chance mari- 
ner on the stormy ocean that night. 

Again and again a rocket pierced the gloom, 
and a hearty shout went up when the boat was 
seen laboring in the waters near by, and then 
being caught in the surf went like an arrow 
straight for the shore. An enormous billow 
broke on them, and Mr. Wentworth and 
Raleigh were struggling in the water, but in a 
moment willing hands had them safe on land, 
and safe in Eden. 

They had seen the boat coming and without 
knowing who was in it, Virginia had saved 
her lover and his father. 

One evening a few days later, Virginia and 
Raleigh, happy once more in being together, 
stood watching the sea, from the rocky cliffs 
about Eden. 

Raleigh had been complaining of his hard 
fortune, and his abandonment of all his plans 
for greatness, and Virginia trying to com- 
fort him, was urging the things he could do 
there at home. ‘ ‘ For Raleigh, ’ ’ said she 
softly, ‘ ‘ merely to distinguish yourself will not 
bring happiness. This is a big world, and in 
it there are countless ways of being of use. It 


A ROMANCH OF KDBN. 


93 


seems to me the truest life is to seize opportu- 
nities as they offer themselves. Now that 
we are together once more and are to be mar- 
ried next month, why can we not do our part 
and be happy as can be, in working for the 
pleasure of our neighbors and friends, and try- 
ing by example and advice to raise, better 
and brighten the many lives about us. 

Then we do our duty, and perhaps in the 
long run we win more happiness and true dis- 
tinction than by many a soul-stirring deed that 
the world talks about. So let us be happy in 
each other and in your dear father, and now my 
father too.” 

And as they stood there, Raleigh weighing 
these beautiful suggestions and noble thoughts, 
they together listened to the murmur of the 
sea, which as frequently caresses as it rages 
and storms against us, and now it seemed 
to whisper to Raleigh that Virginia was 
right and that true happiness lay there. 


THE 

Lake of the Broken Heart. 


F ar up among the Adirondacks, miles 
away from the centres of civilization, and 
still some distance from the roads that 
have recently been cut through this region, is 
a vast tract of forest land extending from the 
giant peaks of Marcy and McIntyre, way 
down to the lakes Golden and Avalanche, and 
around to Indian Pass. 

To enter this tract is to leave civilization 
behind, to exchange the society of man for 
solitude, to turn one’s back on the results of 
man’s labor and revel in the rare beauty of the 
wilderness. Deep ravines, mossy trails and 
wooded heights are varied by the sparkling 
little ponds or the larger bodies of water of 
the lakes. 

To go through the forest is a rare treat to the 
tired dweller in the cit3^ The forest damp 
cools one’s face, the pines are sweetly fragrant, 
the wind sighs musically through the trees, 
while the soft ground of fallen leaves, or moss 


THK I.AKE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 95 

or feathery fern gives scarcely a sound as you 
walk over it. 

And over and over again, as you push 
through the forest, where it is often as wild 
and untouched as when the red man roamed 
at large there, you hear the sound of running 
water, cool and refreshing. 

It is a rest to go to these parts — that is a 
rest for the mind, for Nature here soothes and 
calms. Whether climbing the mountains, or 
paddling over the lakes, or roaming through 
the woods, there are few more beautiful places. 

Deep amidst the densest part of the forest 
lies a little lake, lovely in its calm repose, 
restful in its sombre beauty, as it glistens there 
surrounded by a fringe of trees, above which 
mountain peaks rise like a circle of giants. 

Years ago a party of enthusiastic climbers 
forced their way among these mountains, and 
day by day revelled in the climbs and views 
they afforded. 

They were a jolly crowd too, all off for the 
good time and the benefit a stay in the woods 
brings, and one and all were good walkers, 
from old Mr. and Mrs. King to their two 
daughters, with a cousin of theirs and his friend 
Remington. 

Remington was very devoted to one of those 
^irls, Dorothy, and as all conventionality and 


96 the: lake of the broken heart. 

formality is usually dispensed with in this 
region, day by day they wandered off alone, 
ever making new discoveries of the beautiful. 

One day they had climbed the toilsome ascent 
of one of the highest peaks and after their hard 
work were resting on its summit. Below them 
lay a glorious panorama of river, lake, wood 
and mountain, a wilderness beautiful and sub- 
lime. Silently they sat and revelled in the 
view, until presently Dorothy arose, and walk- 
ing to the edge of the cliff, looked over, and 
suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
calling Remington to her side. Looking down 
in the direction to which she pointed, he saw 
a tiny lake, its surface lightly stirred by the 
wind, seeming like an expanse of beaten silver, 
but it was its shape that surprised as well as 
charmed them. It was that of a perfect heart, 
save that at one end its outlet spoiled the regu- 
larity. The mountains looked benignly down 
on it ; the trees rustled around it ; the rocky 
gorges looked beautiful in the light. 

“What a place for life and love,” said 
Remington. “ Let us name it the Lake of the 
Heart at Rest.” 

“ No,” replied she jestingly, “let us call it 
the Broken Heart, for see, the outlet looks like 
a cleft, and the tiny stream as if bleeding.” 


THE TAKE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 97 

Was it folly, was it morbid sentiment that 
as Remington heard her laughing reply, an 
unaccountable fear seized him, and he shud- 
dered ? It seemed to bode misfortune. 

By and by they descended the peak and 
the beautiful sight was hidden from their eyes. 

They reached their camp late in the after- 
noon full of their discovery, and for hours 
afterward talked of it. 

The days flew. The autumn drew near and 
presently the camp had to be broken up and 
they had to return to the city ; but not before 
Remington had asked Dorothy a very perti- 
nent question ! She said “Yes,” her parents 
said “No,” and as “true love” sometimes 
does not “run smooth” the engagement was 
denied him. Yet, nevertheless, both hoped it 
might finally have been brought about. 

Dorothy grew more and more despondent 
and to try and rid her of Remington’s memory 
and give her a change of scene, her parents 
took her for a trip West, stopping at Niagara. 
She enjoyed the sight of this grandest handi- 
work of nature, but while they were standing 
beside the Whirlpool Rapids, whether by acci- 
dent or mad impulse, Dorothy slipped, and in 
a moment was in that wild, roaring, angry foam 
of waters ! 

jfc :}: * * * :{: * * 


7 


98 THK LAKE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 

Remington was a man, a strong man, but 
who could philosophically bear such a shock. 
Months rolled on, he was a changed man, but 
each day an uncontrollable desire became 
stronger and stronger to seek out again the 
wilderness and find the little lake — the lake 
they named ‘ ‘ The Broken Heart, ’ ’ and there 
abide for the rest of .his life. 

With pack on back, gun in hand, with his 
faithful old dog ‘ ‘ Sport, ’ ’ he reached the wil- 
derness and plunged into the forest. 

Through trackless woods, where the ferns 
and mosses brushed caressingly against him, 
where the little rivulets murmured their little 
song of sympathy, where the cool boulders and 
giant rocks seemed to weep their tears, in the 
springs trickling down their sides, he wandered, 
until having climbed down again that giant 
peak he once more saw the little lake lying 
at his feet. 

Scrambhng, running, jumping from rock to 
rock, at last he reached it, set like a jewel amid 
the green mountains. 

He built his cabin, and solitary and alone 
lived here, thinking of his lost love, partly 
comforted by nature’s loveliness and his feeling 
of nearness to God. 

No streams seem to feed this mystic lake and 
it seemed only to be replenished b)^ the rain 


THE LAKE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 99 

which fittingly seemed like tears from the sky 
over the lake of ‘ ‘ The Broken Heart. ’ ’ 

The years rolled on, and Remington still 
lived isolated and alone. Nature seemed to 
have held her arms out lovingly to him, and 
to have tried to be a solace to him in his great 
sorrow. Often would he go over the favorite 
climbs once made with Dorothy, and time 
never weakened this man’s remembrance, 
while the lake he called “The Broken Heart” 
continually called up once more to mind his 
first look at this little jewel. 

That lake is still to be found amid the wil- 
derness, its beauties are still the same, but 
imder a far more prosaic name, it now attracts 
occasional visitors to wander into these forest 
depths. And, perhaps if you go there, you 
may come upon some moonlight night, or 
hear tales of that lonely man, real or spectre, 
with long white beard and hair, and a face full 
of an unspeakable sorrow and love, who on 
bright nights when the moon is full, comes to 
look once more on that beautiful lake of ‘ ‘ The 
Broken Heart.” 


Her Mistake. 


O H MY ! How provoking ! Why can’t I 
reach it ? ” and again she tried in vain 
to stop a boat that was slowly drifting 
away from shore, but she only succeeded in 
splashing it with water. 

With her flushed cheeks, her soft brown 
hair blowing about her sun-burned face, her 
slim, graceful figure showing plainly against 
the dark back-ground of trees, Marion Hart 
made a very pretty picture, standing there 
with a large branch in her hand, using it in 
vain efforts to catch her boat. 

It was on a little island in one of those lovely 
lakes of the Adirondacks, and Marion having 
landed, was enjoying the views of the flashing 
water, and the purplish mountains in the dis- 
tance, when she saw that her boat, which she 
had thought was safely drawn up on land, was 
drifting away from shore. 

She was now in despair, for the branch that 
she had seized, seemed only to push the boat 
farther away, besides wetting it as it splashed 


HER MISTAKE. 


lOI 


about in the water. Marion knew no one 
would see her there in that wild place, and she 
was at her wit’s ends when she perceived a 
boat approaching. In it was a man, and a 
strange man ! 

What was she to do ? Marion had no desire 
to remain all night on the island, but on the 
other hand, she did not wish to address a man 
she did not know, and besides, her aunt, with 
whom she was staying in the mountains, would 
be horrified ! 

Then she felt how foolish it was to be found 
in such a position, with her boat only a few 
feet from shore, and she a prisoner on the 
island. No ! She wasn’t going to be laughed 
at by a strange man. 

She looked again at his boat, and horrors, 
here he was making straight for her island ! 

“ Beg pardon. Miss, is that your boat, drift- 
ing away ? ’ ’ asked a rather pleasant voice. 

‘ ‘ Miss ! ” To think of any one calling her 
simply “Miss!” Why he must be some 
country fellow, and to think of his talking to 
her, when he did not know her. No I She 
would pretend she didn’t hear. She could not, 
however, resist glancing again at his boat. 
He certainly was a nice-looking fellow, and 
had the unmistakable appearance of a gentle- 
man, but still what right had he to address 


102 


HER MISTAKE. 


her ? (Here, terrible visions of her offended 
aunt rose up before her eyes.) 

‘ ‘ Excuse me, but is this your boat ? ’ ’ again 
questioned the unknown man, pointing to the 
boat that he had managed to secure. 

“ Ye-s-s ” she said, hesitatingly. 

“ I do not suppose you wish it to drift away, 
do you ? ” said the unknown, smiling. 

(The horrid man, why couldn’t he beach the 
boat, and then row off — instead of asking her 
questions and laughing at her !) 

“ No ! It drifted away when I was not look- 
ing, and I could not catch it, although I tried 
to do so with this branch,” she finally an- 
swered, much more graciously. 

He landed and pulled the boat up on shore, 
and then bowed and rowed off a short distance 
in his own boat. 

Marion picked up her hat and stepped towards 
her boat to get in and row off, and then paused 
as she saw that it was very wet from the splash- 
ings she had made with her stick. Is there a 
woman who does not hesitate about spoiling a 
pretty gown? Marion looked at her dainty 
dress, and then at the wet boat, and then 
saw that “horrid man” rowing towards her 
again. 

“Your boat is really entirely too wet to row 
in now. Will you not let me row you back to 


HER MISTAKE. 103 

the hotel — I believe we are both staying at the 
same one — and we can tow your boat ? ’ ’ 

It was very poHtely said, and Marion cer- 
tainly valued her gown, but then to row home 
with a strange man, and start the gossips of 
the place, and then her aunt — Oh ! It would 
be awful ! 

“Thanks, I think I’ll go in my own boat. 
It really doesn’t matter.” But it did, and as 
she glanced again at her wet boat the woman 
conquered, and she allowed the unknown man 
to help her into his boat, and away they 
started down the lake with her own craft in tow. 

At first Marion resolved not to utter a word, 
and sat stiff and cold, with face averted from 
the rower, until she was startled by a laugh ! 
“ Do excuse me,” said the unknown, “ I could 
not help laughing, for it struck me that such 
funny things happen in this world. Here we 
two are rowing home together, who only half 
an hour ago did not know each other ! ’ ’ 

(What impertinence ! ‘ ‘ Who only half an 

hour ago did not know each other,” as if he 
knew her now!) He must be shown that he 
does not know her, and with offended dignity 
she turned coldly towards the speaker, and in 
crushing tones said : ‘ ‘ Pardon me, but this is 
an accident that makes me indebted to you for 
your help and kindness^ but I do not knozv you.' ^ 


104 


HKR MISTAKK. 


‘ ‘ Oh ! I thought I had told you. Allow me 
to introduce myself, Mr. Brown ” 

“ Not Mr. Charley Brown,” exclaimed Mar- 
ion, startled out of her dignity and cold reserve. 
Oh ! goodness, she thought, a moment after, 
what had she said ! 

“Why yes, I am Charley Brown,” was the 
laughing rejoinder. “How could you know 
it ? Oh ! I see, you must be Miss Marion Hart, 
whom .my sister told me to look up ! Well, 
this is a pretty go, isn’t it?” 

Marion felt ridiculous. Here she had been 
inwardly criticising this unknown man, had 
been treating him almost rudely, while in her 
pocket she had a note from his sister — her 
most intimate friend — telling Marion that her 
brother Charley had just returned from Europe, 
where he had been some years, and had started 
for a little trip to the Adirondacks. Her reserve 
vanished, but still her feeling of having been 
ridiculous made her rather cold and unappre- 
ciative of Brown’s lively conversation and 
cheerful laughter. 

As they drew near the wharf, he held out 
his hand, saying: “Now Miss Hart, do not 
feel offended at me, it has been such a jolly 
little experience. Let us shake hands and be 
friends, and try a row again some more oppor- 
tune time ! ’ ’ 


HER MISTAKE. 


105 


His frank smile won her, her pretty little 
hand for a moment was clasped in his, and they 
walked up the steep path to the hotel, feeling 
that their odd meeting was to make them fast 
friends. 

About a year later, Mrs. Charles Brown (nee 
Hart) and her husband, were registered at the 
same hotel. 


Lost in the Indian Pass. 


ANY years ago the now famous Adiron- 
I I dacks were almost unknown, a wil- 
emess of mountains, lakes and 
forests, in many places a trackless labyrinth 
where the foot of white man had never trod. 

Occasionally venturesome hunters would 
penetrate the dense woods and these invari- 
ably returned with such stories of the beauty oi 
the place and the great abundance of game, 
that their tales came to be regarded as extrav- 
agant and not worthy of credence. 

These stories aroused the adventuresome 
spirit of many, among whom was Robert Lee, 
who lived on the upper Hudson, and who 
came regularly in the neighborhood of this 
region for a holiday and an outing. One sum- 
mer he started with pack and gun to go into 
these great woods. He refused to allow any 
one to go with him, and noted as he was as a 
good woodsman, his friends let him have his 
way and laughingly bade him “good-bye,” 
saying they did not think he would go far. 



Looking Towards Indian Pass. 


[From " The Adirondacks,” by S. R. Stoddard.] 


I 


• * 


9 


9 



I 


I 

I 

» 


% 

I 

% 


• 1 ^ 



41 


> 


t 


* 


V 








% 


• • 







4 





4 






I 


% 

«4 . 


* • 

1 - 


) 

M- 

t 

4 . 

I 

I 

« 


1 ^ 


9> 


•9* 

f 


X 


• 4 


« 


« 


« 


4 




V 




I 



» 








V 

1 


I 


» 


I « 


4 


A 







4 

I 


4 


> 



f 


A ^ 


«* 




t 


k * 


s 



• # 




I 


4 



9 


if 



f 


» 


4 . ^ 



^ « m 


J 


K 


> 




k 




% 


I 





I 






% 

0 


• 4 


‘I 


« ^ 


( 


A 


% t. 





LOST IN THK INDIAN PASS. 107 

Weeks passed, and then months, until half 
a year had almost run its course, and yet no 
Robert Lee. Parties started to find him, but 
as they knew not where he entered the woods, 
it was soon seen to be hopeless to find a man 
lost in the forests covering some 7,000 square 
miles. His family and his friends, though fear- 
ful, yet held hopes that some day he would 
“ turn up ” safe and sound. 

It was the fall of the year in which Lee had 
started off, when three great friends, Tom and 
Harry Blake and Rodney Ransom (or “Rod”), 
came up for a month or two in the woods. 
They had heard of the Adirondacks and espe- 
cially of the Indian Pass, famed hr Indian le- 
gend, and now well equipped they were to start 
in. There was “a method in their madness” 
too, for being old college friends of Bob Lee, 
they hoped to come upon signs of him, while 
after their own pleasure. They were all used 
to the forests and could roam without the sign 
of a trail, telling their direction by the bark 
on the trees and the angle of the sun. 

So off they went and soon were deep in the 
forest. Now they would push through a dense 
mass of underbrush, small trees and luxuriant 
ferns, or clamber through a (Jeep ravine ; the:’, 
perhaps they would ford a mountain stream or 
climb over the outlying spur of some moun- 


Io8 LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS. 

tain, affording a lovely view of lakes and 
woods lying silent and still amid the moun- 
tains, and occasionally their way would lead 
them out into a valley , green and beautiful. 

Towards sun-down of their first day, they 
had covered some twenty miles, and as Rod 
said, had ‘ ‘ done the hardest day’s work he had 
ever had, and one deserving of a good meal,” 
They were all as hungry as Rod, but Tom 
suggested keeping on a little while longer, in 
hopes of reaching water. 

They decided to do this, and presently the 
ground descended somewhat, and in a few 
moments they came out on the shore of a little 
lake. It was about a mile long, and only one 
quarter of that distance in width. On either 
side the mountains rose almost sheer up sev- 
eral thousand feet, casting their black re- 
flection in the deep and silent waters. 

It took but a few minutes to make their 
preparations for a camp. They nailed a branch 
from one tree to a second, and laying 
logs and branches on this they soon had a shed 
built, to protect them from the wind and the 
rain. 

Rod left Tom and Harry busy about supper, 
and wandered down to the side of the lake for 
water. 

vSuddenly there came a splash, and some 


I.OST IN THE INDIAN PASS. 109 

strong words that could not be made out. 
They ran to the spot these sounds seemed to 
come from, and there burst into laughter at the 
sight they saw. About twenty yards from 
shore was Rod, holding on for dear life to a 
slippery log, that rolled and heaved at his 
desperate struggles to clamber up, while to 
make the picture still more funny he held his 
pipe firmly clinched between his teeth. 

When they pulled him ashore, dripping wet. 
Rod laughed at his experience, saying : “You 
see, fellows, the water near the shore seemed 
rather stagnant, so I found this log and 
walked beautifully to the end, which was 
straight out from the shore. Just as I reached 
my pail down, the blamed thing rolled, and 
over I went. I held on to my daisy pipe 
though, for I wouldn’t lose that for worlds.’’ 

After a hearty laugh all round they sat down 
to their “feed,’’ as Rod called it. Tom said in 
advance that he had been cook, and then 
posed for compliments on his success. The 
beefsteak and potatoes met with unqualified 
approval. The omelette, Rod said, “took 
the cake,’’ at which Tom’s face wore a self- 
satisfied look that turned to utter disgust, 
when Rod further explained ‘ ‘ because it is so 
heavy. ’ ’ When Rod said, referring to the coffee, 
that there were “just grounds of complaint 


no 


I,OST IN THK INDIAN PASS. 


there, ’ ’ they both — Harry and Tom — turned 
on him, and then and there told him that if 
puns were perpetrated in those desert wilds, 
that the offender would be terribly punished. 

Shortly after this terrible threat, they turned 
in and slept soundly. Towards morning, 
while yet dark, Tom was awakened by the 
moaning of their dog, and on leaning over to 
pat him found the animal quivering with fear. 
Raising himself, Tom heard a stealthy tread, 
and then it ceased for a moment. Then, what- 
ever it was, it moved on, along the stony bank. 

Looking carefully out, but seeing nothing, 
Tom came to the conclusion, that whatever it 
was, it had gone. Scarcely, however, had he 
composed himself, and was just dropping off 
into another sleep, when he was suddenly 
startled again by a low growl on the part of 
the dog. This time the dog was growling, and 
pulling at his rope, as if anxious to spring for- 
ward. 

Glancing out of the end of the shed fronting 
the lake, Tom saw an object swimming in the 
water, directly for the place where they were. 
He awakened Harry and Rod, and then, all 
three seizing their guns, th^y waited in eager 
expectancy for what was to happen. Nearer 
and nearer came the object, and then they 
could hear its heavy breathing. 


LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS. 


Ill 


Just then the moon, which had been hidden 
behind a cloud, came from under it, and 
showed them clearly a magnificent deer only 
a few yards away, swimming in the lake. 

The three guns seemed to go off at once, and 
then they saw, that though evidently badly 
wounded, the animal had come ashore, and 
was dashing towards them, full of fight. As 
the buck, raging with anger and pain, sprang 
from the water, they were frightened for a mo- 
ment, but Tom, quickly regaining his presence 
of mind, gave the buck the other barrel of his 
gun. Down he fell, struggled for a moment, 
and then rolled over dead. 

To say that the three were delighted is 
putting it mildly indeed, for they had never 
before shot such a splendid specimen. There 
was no more sleep for them. 

For several days after this, their life was 
very much the same. A cool swim in the 
lakes in the morning, a long walk or climb, 
with occasional tramps after game, made up 
most of their day. Bach night, however, they 
had gone further into the wilds, and were 
daily expecting to come upon some signs of 
their missing friend. 

One day, after an unusually long tramp, 
they w’ere walking along very tired and silent, 
locking for a suitable place to camp. Round- 


II2 


lost in THK INDIAN PASS. 


ing a boulder, they came upon a little clearing 
in the forest, in the centre of which was a 
small log house. They stopped and gazed at 
it for a moment, and then ran forward to where 
the door had once been, and looked in. 

It was entirely bare and empty, save for a 
little broken cot in one corner, near which lay 
the mildewed remains of a book. The deserted 
look of the house impressed them sadly at first, 
but in a few moments this feeling gradually 
wore off, and they entered and picked up the 
book. It was a copy of Byron’s “ Childe 
Harold,” but no name was on the title page, 
to give any clue to the name of the owner and 
builder of the cabin. 

They determined to spend the night here. 
After their meal, as they were lying in va- 
rious attitudes of rest and comfort, and the 
while enjoying the luxury of a pipe, they told 
each other story after story of adventures and 
daring, and it was late in the night when they 
finally went asleep. 

Tate the following morning they arose, and 
were soon on the way. ” Fellows,” said Tom, 
” you know that I am not superstitious, but I 
dreamt last night that we had found Bob Tee, 
and I feel to-day that something is going to 
happen ! ’ ’ 


LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS. II3 

“ The only thing that I think will happen,” 
said Rod, ” is that if you kick as much as you 
did last night, there will be a death in 
your family. Why,' Harry, last night Tom 
was forever talking of swimming, and then to 
illustrate his dreams he would kick and swing 
his arms, usually hitting me in the ear.” 

Talking and chaffing each other they kept 
on walking, it being then entirely forest land, 
quite level. As they rounded a long spur 
of a mountain, Rod proposed that they would 
follow it round to their right, and go part ways 
up a wooded defile between the mountains, and 
leave the level land. Agreeing to this, they 
bore round to the right, and each moment 
found the way becoming steeper and steeper. 

Presently they came to a stream, which they 
followed up a little ways. Suddenly Rod 
stopped, and gazing intently ahead of him, 
cried out that he saw the barrel of a gun in 
the thicket ahead. They sprang forward, and 
then came to a dead stop at the sight that met 
their gaze. 

Sitting, almost hidden in the bushes, was 
the figure of a man. They approached it 
softly, for instinctively they knew that they 
were in the presence of death. 

There, resting against a tree, was the skele- 
ton of a man, with the remains of his clothing 


8 


1 14 I.OST IN THE INDIAN PASS. 

still clinging about his whitened bones. The 
head had fallen on his breast, and the bony 
fingers were still clutching the gun, the barrel 
of which was choked with rust. 

As they looked at this melancholy sight, a 
feeling of deep sadness came over them all, as 
they thought over what must have been the 
unfortunate fellow’s story, how he must have 
lost his way in the dense forest, how he must 
have hurt himself so badly in some way as to 
prevent him hunting or walking, and there, 
reclining against the tree, had died of exhaus- 
tion and exposure. 

Suddenly the same thought flashed upon all 
at once — could it be the body of Bob Lee? 
With startled faces, they glanced at each other, 
and then looked again at the dead man. Go- 
ing forward. Rod picked up a little book, 
rotten and mildewed from the damp, which 
they had overlooked at first. On the leaf oppo- 
site the title-page they could distinguish with 
some difiiculty the words : “A wanderer for 
three years, I now know I am dying in the 
wilderness, unable to move, and without a 
comfort that soothes a man’s dying moments 
at home. Here hunger and cold will in a few 
hours more end me. If my body should ever 
be found in this desolate place, will the finder 
bury my remains ? In hopes of Divine Mercy, 
I await my end.” There was no signature. 


I.OST IN THE INDIAN PASS. II5 

It was a relief to know it was not the body 
of the man for whom they were searching. 

Sadly they hollowed a little grave, in which 
they placed the poor fellow, covering him with 
stones and leaves, left the spot with heavy 
hearts and anticipations of evil. As the day 
wore on, however,' their jovial spirits came 
back again. 

Steeper and steeper grew the path, until at 
last they came out on a point of rock — a 
seeming precipice on two sides. As they 
reached here they suddenly paused, and then 
all three of them dashed forward, shouting and 
yelling as if wild, for there, lying on the rock, 
smoking, was — Bob Lee ! 

He sprang up, and with a look of the most 
utter amazement , greeted them . After repeated 
shakings of hands, hasty words of greeting, 
and explanations, they quieted down somewhat, 
and as evening had closed in, they rolled them- 
selves in their blankets, and reclining com- 
fortably there, awaited the story of Bob’s 
wanderings. 

“Well, old fellows, you can’t imagine how 
glad I am to see you, and how I longed to hear 
from home. It seems years since I’ve been 
there. And you chaps are looking so well, 
too ! 

I have not so much to tell you, but if you 


Il6 IvOST IN THK INDIAN PASS. 

want to hear, then here goes. You know how 
I started in. I went for a while by boat with 
a guide (whom I took after all), who finally 
left me, to explore the wilds alone, as we had 
arranged before starting. 

I came across some beautiful pieces of moun- 
tain-country, and had some great luck shoot- 
ing, but as to adventures, I only had one, and 
that was last night.” 

” Last night ! ” cried the boys, ” come, let’s 
hear it.” 

“Well, I fear you will laugh,” returned 
Bob, while a queer look passed over his face, 

‘ ‘ but you see it was this way. I reached here 
yesterday. I Came up the way you did, and 
when near the top came upon a faint ‘ blazing ’ 
upon some of the trees, that had evidently been 
made by the Indians years ago. Following 
these marks, the way became steeper and 
steeper, until after a sharp climb, I came out 
of the woods to this elevation. You probably 
noticed that it is a steep clifi* several hundred 
feet above the ground. 

The view is superb, as perhaps you saw. 
At my feet lay the valley — one mass of dense 
forest, completely surrounded by mountains, 
rising peak above peak, until the purple of the 
farthest ones blended in with the sky. At the 
extreme end of the valley was a tiny lake, 
shinning like silver in the sun. 


LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS. II7 

Creeping to the edge of this rock, I saw that 
at its foot was a wooded pass leading up 
through the mountains, which rise sheer up 
several thousand feet. 

You will see all this to-morrow, but I tell 
you about it to show how the wild grandeur 
of the place impressed me, and also because 
you will better understand what I am going to 
relate. 

When it became dark, I rolled myself in my 
blanket, and was lying, thinking of my wild 
surroundings, when I became aware of a 
strange sound — a continued swishing and 
rushing. 

At first I thought it was the wind sighing 
through the trees, but suddenly it flashed up- 
on me that the night was perfectly still, without 
a breath of air. This aroused me, for I 
knew the sound could only be caused by one 
other thing, that is, by the passage of some 
object through the forest. I was about to 
start up, when my muscles were almost para- 
lyzed by a most unearthly cry — long, shrill and 
piercing — ending in a low gurgle. Once again 
it sounded, and then all was silence once 
more, except for the same rushing sound. 

I arose, and thinking the noise came from 
the pass below, I walked to the edge of the 
precipice and looked over. Now do not laugh 


Il8 LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS- 

at what I saw, for I am neither a crank nor a 
coward ! 

Up the defile, moving stealthily along in 
single file, came a number of Indians in hid- 
eous paint, while at each step the bushes 
rustled and sighed as they were thrust aside 
by the passing forms. The Indians glided 
along like spectres, and I saw, to my dismay, 
they were taking a path that led direct to 
where I stood. To move was to be discovered, 
so I softly drew back and remained hidden in 
a few bushes growing here. 

Nearer and nearer they came, and just as 
they almost reached the spot, again came that 
frightful cry, its weird, quavering notes echoing 
from the opposite cliffs and dying away in 
mournful reverberations. Then as they came 
out on the rock, I saw that they carried a bun- 
dle — a dead human form, as I presently 
discovered. 

They saw my camp-fire, but for some reason 
never thought of looking for me. The Indians 
seated themselves in a circle round the fire, 
and for a few moments were as immovable as 
statues. Then, with a repetition of that terri- 
ble shriek, the whole band sprang to their feet, 
and began executing a most weird and gro- 
tesque dance. 

They moaned, they shouted, they flourished 


LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS. II9 

their tomahawks on high, then fell flat on 
their faces, and again uttered that terrible 
cry. Then springing up once more, they 
caught up the dead body they had carried up, 
and with a gently undulating motion, moved 
slowly around the dancing flames of their fire, 
swaying first to the right and then to the left, 
and singing in gutteral tones. 

Suddenly the circle broke, one end leading 
ofi* to the side of the cliff, and to my horror, I 
saw them, still carrying the dead body, walk 
one by one off the precipice. 

I listened for the sound of their fall, but 
heard nothing. I could contain myself no 
longer, and rushed to the spot where I had 
last seen the Indians. 

Not an Indian could be seen. I listened to 
see if I could hear them pushing through the 
bushes — but no, not even a rushing sound 
could be heard. 

I must then have returned to the middle of 
the rock and fallen into a troubled sleep, for I 
awoke early in the morning with a very un- 
comfortable feeling about my night’s expe- 
rience. To-day I carefully searched, to discover 
a sign of the Indians, but not a footprint or a 
broken twig, or an opening in the trees could 
I find, to show where they had been, and no 
mangled bodies could I see, where they had 


120 


LOST IN THE INDIAN PASS. 


fallen in their walk over the cliff. Now boys, 
I was brooding over this when you came up, 
but am yet in the dark. Come, tell me what 
you think about it ! ” 

Saying that, Bob turned around with a 
merry smile to the boys. 

“ Bob, ” said Tom, “ I very much fear your 
imagination was too much for you, or ’ ’ 

“ No ! ’ ’ interrupted Rod, ‘ ‘ It was just this. 
Those terrible shrieks were nothing more nor 
less than the cry of a loon ! Hark ! There 
goes one now,” and indeed, at that moment, 
was heard a shrill cry, rising quaveringly, 
mournfully upon the air — the weird cry of a 
loon ! 

“And,” continued Rod, “poor Bob must 
have had the nightmare and imagined all kinds 
of terrible things. Anyhow I do not think 
much of his adventure.” 

The next day they had a little consultation, 
and determined to start for home, as Bob had 
already seen enough of forest-life, and the 
others were anxious to see their home once 
more. They accordingly started, each day 
seeing them tramping through a most beau- 
tiful country, wild and grand, and each night 
finding them tired but happy, as they lay 
around their bright camp-fire. 

In due time they reached the more civilized 


LOST IN THB INDIAN PASS. 


I2I 


country, and soon were once again in the midst 
of friends, who welcomed the missing Bob Lee 
with hearty greetings, and never tired of hear- 
ing the adventures of him and his successful 
searchers for him — and above all, of the night 
spent in the Indian Pass. 


A Mountain Ramble. 


T hey landed from the train at Plattsburgh 
early in the morning, and when they 
had seen their luggage safely stow^ed 
away in the waiting coach, they clambered to 
the top, and with buoyant spirits started on 
their trip. 

Away they went, swaying, swinging and 
bouncing, as the horses dashed along, dragging 
the coach over hollows and stones, and every 
little while reaching a fat little pool of muddy 
water which spouted wickedly in the air. 
Reaching Saranac Lake, they found the Am- 
persand could not accommodate them, but at 
the Algonquin they were successful in getting 
a room. In the afternoon, feeling fine from the 
keen, bracing mountain air, and very “sporty ” 
from having dined on venison steak, they de- 
cided to have a row to the end of Saranac, 
some eight miles long. 

Now, as everyone who has been in this re- 
gion knows, the Adirondack boat must have 
been designed either by a lunatic, or by a man 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUS. 


123 


with a dislike for the race, for who else would 
plan a craft in which the oars overlap and 
bark the rower’s fingers at each stroke ! 

The Sport is most good-natured — his one 
great fault being his liking for cigarettes — and 
he preserved his complacency until he mastered 
the art of rowing an Adirondack boat. The 
Chap who prided himself on rowing, boasting 
that he once trained several weeks when at 
college, sat and made comforting remarks 
from time to time, and in his conceit really 
thought how much better he would do it ! But 
a time of reckoning was coming for him ! 

Tower Saranac Lake, with its low wooded 
shores, its rocky islands and long stretches of 
water shining in the sun, with the low purplish 
mountains seen in the distance, is a very pretty 
body of water. Occasionally, the boat would 
pass some little camp, half hidden in the trees, 
its occupants lazily enjoying the quiet and 
beauty of the scene. 

After a long pull, the lower end of the lake 
was reached. The Sport rowed the boat up a 
little bay, and here Chap’s latest mania as- 
serted itself. Given a piece of water with 
Chap near it, that man must swim. Salt or 
fresh, cold or hot, deep or shallow, he must 
swim. And the queer thing about it is, that he 
is but an indifferent swimmer. He says “he 


124 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 


gets there, though,” but as the Sport usually 
remarks with more truth than kindness, ‘ ‘ there 
has to be pretty near !” 

So, at Saranac they had their swim. Oh ! 
how refreshing was the cool water, and how 
they revelled in it as they disported there ! 

But alas ! Pleasure and pain too often go 
together, and when they clambered out on the 
rocks, it needed many bits of court-plaster to 
repair the damage done in the way of cuts. 

Again they are in the boat ; Chap takes the 
oars, while his face wears the expression that 
a man’s phiz has, when he thinks to “show 
off.” He took up the oars, straightened his 
back, expanded his chest, and took his first 
stroke. Something seemed wrong, and his 
smile faded away as he gazed on his bruised 
knuckles. He would not show that it hurt, but 
worked away at the oars, at first anxiously, 
then viciously. 

Seeing the Sport quietly laughing, he re- 
marked that he ” didn’t see the joke !” 

This seemed to cause the Sport still more 
amusement, whereupon Chap talked to himself 
in a strange way, and it was evidently not the 
rhapsodies of a poetic or a religious mind, for 
the Sport remarked: “For a Churchman, 
and a High Churchman, such rage and mut- 
terings are frightful ! If it was I, it would be 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUE. 


125 


all right, but for you well, it is fortunate 

that you don’t row to church in an Adirondack 
boat! You’d soon be excommunicated!” 
Eventually the Sport learned to love these 
little boats. 

The sun was just sinking behind the moun- 
tains, and the smooth expanse of the lake 
seemed to glow with the varying hues of gold 
and bronze, while the very atmosphere seemed 
tinted by the last rays of light as they rowed 
homeward. 

That night — it was Sunday — as they sat on 
the piazza, breathing the cool, crisp air of the 
mountains, and feeling that quiet happiness 
that a brilliant starlight evening brings in her 
train, the voices of some of the guests, now 
gathered together in the parlor, reached their 
ears, singing that beautiful hymn of Cardinal 
Newman’s : 

“Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 
Lead thou me on !“ 

There, many miles from home, away in the 
heart of the wilderness, amid the works of 
nature, scattered so generously around, what a 
proof of the Christian worship which has civi- 
lized and purified the world, that even there 
these few persons should delight in praise and 
prayer to God 


126 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 


On the following morning they were to 
walk to Lake Placid. 

They had made the mistake of taking too 
much luggage for ‘ ‘ roughing it, ’ ’ and as Chap 
remarked that the acknowledgement of a fault 
should be followed by reparation or amend- 
ment, they adhered to Orthodoxy, by express- 
ing back to Saratoga everything except the 
few things they selected as being positively 
necessary. Then they began their march, a 
tramp of about twelve miles. 

The roads were soft from the recent rains, 
but the hills were hard — that is, especially 
hard because they were soft, a paradox which 
the reader must interpret. But the hard work 
was exhilarating and rare sport, and then again, 
it is such a mental satisfaction, the forcing of 
the physical powers to accomplish a given 
labor. 

Chap has always preferred the romantic 
trails of a forest, but as for the Sport, only give 
him a good road — say Chestnut Street, when 
not too crowded, and he is in his element ! 

It was truly a beautiful walk, now through 
the sweet, resinous woods, then over the 
heights of hills, affording views of the sur- 
rounding mountains. As they drew near 
Lake Placid, the ground gradually became 
rougher and higher and the peaks wilder and 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 


127 


grander. Presently the road entered a dense 
growth of trees, and continuing for about a 
mile, it brought the Tramps out at the West- 
side Hotel, on Lake Placid. 

Their first labor was to rid their shoes of the 
coating of mud from their walk — a labor re- 
sembling that of Hercules ; their second duty 
to dine. Both of these being accomplished, 
after a short rest, they obtained a boat, with 
which to explore the lake. This time Chap 
distinguished himself, rowing to the far end in 
great style. 

There seemed to be more camps on this lake 
than on Saranac, and these camps, too, were 
more elaborate and artistic in their construc- 
tion. Amid a scene so quiet and peaceful by 
nature, it added still more to the effect, to see 
a tiny column of smoke curling up from some 
little camp-fire. 

Reaching the far end of the lake. Chap’s 
mania again asserted itself, and there was ab- 
solutely no way to quiet him, except to let it 
have its way, which was to indulge in a swim. 
The dip in the cold water well repaid for the 
trouble. 

Once again in their boat, this time in charge 
of the Sport, who handled the oars, they 
directed their course towards the distant Stevens 
House. Going thither, they had a splendid 


128 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE- 


view of the many mountain peaks surrounding 
Lake Placid. It is truly a beautiful lake. 
Being nearer the inner portion of the wilder- 
ness, it is diiBferent from Saranac, for at Placid, 
the lake lies like a shining bit of crystal in a 
basin formed by most high and varied moim- 
tain peaks, enclosing it completely, their 
sides green with the wilderness and forest. 

Sitting on the comfortable piazza of the 
Stevens House that night, they listened to the 
orchestra inside as it discoursed sweet music, 
the strains of some familiar air carrying them 
far away in thought to their distant home. 

5li 5|« * ♦ ♦ * 

The following morning turned out to be 
rainy, and it was a most desolate scene which 
they saw from their windows. Dense clouds 
hung over the mountains, and the pouring rain 
was cold, dreary and discouraging. 

They were not to be deterred, however, from 
pushing on, but started in a carriage for 
Adirondack Lodge. It was a ten mile drive 
to Clear Lake, the first portion being along the 
beaten coach-road. Presently the road turned 
sharply to the right, and soon they were driv- 
ing through a dense forest, the single road- way 
soaking with wet, and the foliage of the trees 
brushing them continually with their wet 
leaves. Then they emerged at a little clearing, 



Adirondack Lodge. 


[From “The Adirondacks,’’ by S. R. Stoddard.] 


« 


« 


^ I , 

« 



» 


I 









» •. 








r 


1 1 


I 



f . -.^. 


4 





« 


t 


■ *i 




r 

P 



I 


r 


% 



\ 


} 


% 



I 


» 



t 



r * 


I 


4 


>• 








<* '*» 


?* A*' .•“ » ■ 

•■' .<-r _ ■!• 



» 


t» 




I 


f ’■ 






I 


« 


I 




»■ 










4 


7 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE. 


129 


beside a beautiful quiet lake, lying silent and 
black at the foot of the highest mountains in 
New York State, where was the pretty Adiron- 
dack Lodge, built entirely of logs, rough and 
unfinished, but beautifully fitted and joined 
together. 

It being impossible to walk that day. Chap 
and the Sport spent the day on the piazzas, or 
sitting by the cheering wood-fire blazing mer- 
rily in the ofiice. On the porch was a group of 
four, playing euchre by the hour, and it was 
not long before the players and the tramps 
knew each other. 

That night a large fire of logs was built in 
the road in front of the house, the flames 
darting up and lighting the faces of those near 
it, while the sombre, black depths of the forest 
around remained in the deepest shadow. In- 
side, the “ euchre players ” and the tramps sat 
and ‘ ‘ warmed up ” to each other, and with 
the aid of some fine cognac brandy and some 
malt, any distinctions existing between Colum- 
bia, Harvard or Pennsylvania University men, 
or the clerk of the hotel and the bell-boy, disap- 
peared, and it became a thoroughly democratic 
and genial gathering. A right jolly crowd of 
chaps they were, too, and many a witty thing 
was said, so that it was much later than they 
had intended, when the tramps “turned in.” 


9 


130 A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 

They arose early the following day, and after 
equipping themselves for a rough walk and 
preparing for hard work, with their guide, they 
started for Avalanche and Golden Lakes. The 
walk there and back would be only about fif- 
teen miles, but when the ground to be covered 
is considered, it seems more like twice that. 
A more beautiful walk could hardly be imag- 
ined. At times very steep, at one moment they 
would thrust their way through a mass of un- 
derbrush, small trees and luxuriant ferns ; then 
they would pass around some giant boulder, 
half covered with rich moss or vines, or they 
would have to crawl under some fallen trees ; 
then picking their way over protruding roots, 
twisted vines, and stones, they would reach a 
rushing stream and cross its waters by means 
of logs or jumping from rock to rock, and 
often by fording it ; again they would gain 
a spur of some mountain, from which they 
could see above the forests the neighboring 
summits, or look far down into a rocky 
ravine, where perhaps no man had ever been. 

The damp air cooled their faces, the forest 
shades were pleasant to their e3^es, and the 
play of lights and shadows in the forest depths 
appealed to their sense of the beautiful. Now 
the respective characteristics of the Sport and 
Chap shone out. Chap, who is romantic and 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 13I 

imaginative, would remark on the loveliness 
of the place, of the wildness and picturesque- 
ness of the clinging mosses and gnarled roots, 
and begin to quote Byron’s “ Childe Harold 
‘ ‘ There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, ’ ’ 
etc. The Sport, wishing he was walking 
down Chestnut Street, mutters : ‘ ‘ Everyone to 
his taste, but when a man talks of pleasure in 
tripping over roots, sliding on slippery mosses, 
crawling through the muck to get under fallen 
trees, and hurting one’s feet and scratching 
one’s face, then count me out, for I’m not in it.” 

That guide, too, was a daisy ! 

Knowing that the walk would be a very wet 
one, and fearing that it might result in chills, 
if some precautions were not taken, Chap 
took his whiskey flask with him. On 
becoming pretty well soaked in crossing the 
first stream, he had recourse to it, and before 
indulging, naturally offered it to the others. 
Well, from that moment that guide shone out 
in a new light. He seemed to wdsh to ford 
every stream, and to go through all kinds of 
wet places, to seek out swamps, and of course, 
after each one another swig at the flask ! He 
did love ‘ ‘ the crayture^ ’ ’ and happy it made 
him when he saw the flash of the flask and 
heard that welcome gurgle once more. 

By and by, through the trees, which became 


132 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 


a little more open, the waters of a lake were 
seen, and in a few moments more they stood at 
Avalanche Lake. One of that little party per- 
haps will never forget his impression of Ava- 
lanche Lake. About half a mile in length 
and scarcely three hundred yards in width, its 
black waters lay sullen and awesome-looking, 
between mountains on either side rising 
several thousand feet, sheer up like a wall. 
Not a sign of life or habitation, except the 
half-rotten dug-out of the Indians. And 
through this narrow gap or defile the wind 
moaned or whistled, while the clouded, over- 
cast heavens seemed to add still more to the 
gloominess of the wildest lake in the Adiron- 
dacks. It seemed, in the words of Hood : 

“ For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 

A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 

And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 

The place is haunted.” 

Clambering along the few rocks scattered at 
its side, or on logs of wood collected at the foot 
of the wall of the mountain, they reached a 
place where the water was about five feet deep 
and where there was apparently no way of 
crossing for about thirty yards, except on ^ome 
loose logs under the water. 

The guide insisted that they could not pass. 

Chap v^ished to go on and persuaded Norris, 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE. 


133 


the guide, to tr}^ Norris walked timidly out 
along the heavy, rolling logs, and then came 
back and said he couldn’t go any further. 
Then Chap became daring — perhaps he longed 
for another swim — and started to try what he 
could do. 

Cautiously creeping out on the logs he 
moved along foot by foot, while the Sport and 
the guide watched him with an expectation of 
the dehght of seeing him roll over and get a 
ducking. Nearer and nearer Chap drew to the 
goal, and although the logs lurched and rolled, 
he finally reached the other side, and with a 
shout crawled up the bank, safe but wet almost 
to the waist. The Sport and Norris could not 
but follow and they also succeeded in accom- 
plishing the feat in safety and then laughed at 
their fear. Then, after very hard and difficult 
walking for about two miles, they reached 
Lake Colden, one of the other wild lakes of 
this region. 

Choosing an open spot, they started about 
preparing dinner. Fortunately for the party, 
Norris cooked. And now a distressing thing 
must be told ! The Sport, who had all along 
refused to drink of the whiskey straight, now 
took some sugar and water (no bitters were to 
be had), and adding whiskey, made himself a 
whiskey cock-tail ! 


134 A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE. 

Think of it — a cock>tail in the wilds of the 
forest ! 

How the native Indian would have wept, 
how the denizens of the forest must have felt 
to see these sacred forest depths opened to the 
civilization of the city in the way of a cock- 
tail ! 

While eating, Chap distinguished him- 
self. Gracefully seating himself on a branch of 
a fallen tree, while he held a tin cup of coffee 
in one hand, and a piece of bread in the other, 
he seemed the personification of content, when 
suddenly a cracking sound was heard, and his 
companions beheld a kaleidoscopic view of 
coffee, bread, tin cup, boots and man, going 
through the air and landing in different places. 
Undignified, to say the least, and most sur- 
prising in a man like Chap ! 

After a hearty meal, they began their home- 
ward journey, going back the way they had 
come. And now another funny thing must be 
recorded. 

They came to a stream, over which they 
had to cross on a log. The Sport, smoking 
his pipe and balancing himself, essayed to 
cross, but fell into the stream, becoming soaked 
to the skin, but strange to say, retaining his 
hold on his pipe ! He appeared again on the 
shore, and wonderful to relate, with his pipe 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE. 


135 


still going ! If the Sport had any ambition 
for the variety stage, the repitition of this per- 
formance would “bring down the house !“ 

Somehow, that homeward walk seemed very, 
very long, and long before they reached the 
end, silence seemed to fall upon the party, and 
the}^ trudged on, hoping each turn would 
bring them home. It was certainly a long and 
tough walk, but when at last they reached 
Clear Lake, where the Lodge was, their spirits 
had so far risen, that the Sport and Chap 
determined to complete their day by climbing 
Mount Jo. Though not a very high peak, the 
climb to their already wearied muscles proved 
to be a pretty hard one, and the tramps fre- 
quently had to stop and get their breath 
before they finally reached the summit. 

But then what a treat for them ! At their 
feet was Clear Lake, surrounded by the giant 
peaks of Marcy, McIntyre and Colden, while 
the whole surrounding country presented to 
their e3^es a beautiful picture of valley, wood- 
land, lakes, mountains and wilderness, with 
now and then a house. 

That night the college students, the hotel 
clerk and bell-boy listened to the account of 
their day’s experiences, while they sat and 
smoked round the fire. As they were on the 
following day to walk to Indian Pass, they 


136 A MOUNTAIN RAM BUB. 

‘ ‘ turned in ’ ’ early and slept the sleep of the 
tired, if not of the just. 

Bright and early next day they were tramp- 
ing along after Norris, the guide, bound for 
Indian Pass. They felt rather tired at first, 
from their long walk of the previous day, but 
as they proceeded they warmed to their work 
and the sense of fatigue wore away. This 
trail was very much like the one of the day 
before, except that the ground kept ascending, 
and presently it became very hard work. 

It was truly beautiful. For awhile they 
followed the windings of a little stream, which 
later on forms the mighty Hudson, and con- 
stantly crossed and re-crossed it. Its murmur, 
as it rushed over its rocky bed, sung in their 
ears as they walked along, and they were very 
sorry at last to leave it. Then the trail be- 
came almost precipitous. Climbing began, 
and their steps were slow and carefully taken. 
Up steep ledges of rock, over round, shining 
boulders, slippery with moss, then along a 
narrow path looking on the defile below, fol- 
lowed by a little run to lower ground, this 
being repeated over and over again. But they 
knew they were getting nearer Summit Rock, 
for they noticed how they had ascended, 
and they began to feel the strong wind blow- 
ing up the pass. 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBI^K. 


137 


Presently, after a still harder scramble, out 
they came on Summit Rock, at the head of the 
famous Indian Pass, and threw themselves on 
the flat rock here and gazed around at the 
beautiful scene. 

It is hard to describe it. Below them lay 
the defile of the pass, a confused mass of 
forest, rocks and debris from storms ; to their 
right rose mighty Wall Face Mountain, stand- 
ing grim and black, looking o’er the scene ; 
down in front of them lay the unbroken forest, 
miles and miles of trees, where perhaps men 
seldom penetrated, extending to the little lakes 
gleaming in the far distance. Not a house or 
sign of man or civilization to be seen — all 
nature, undisturbed in its wildness. And then 
around, in a circle, as it were, surrounding 
the forest on all three sides were the mountains, 
rising one above the other, beautifully colored 
by the distance into many hues of green and 
purple, fading away until the farthest ones 
blended in with the soft tints of the horizon. 

A scene of this kind inspires one. He feels 
like being still and saying nothing ; he recog- 
nizes the wonderful hand of the Creator in all 
around, and feels the quiet and perfect peace of 
the spot. No noise, no worry, no worldy 
cares are here ; no persons to bother one ; no 
responsibilities to fret over — all is nature. 


138 A MOUNTAIN RAMBUE- 

around, beneath, above him ! Indeedit repays 
one for all the trouble, hard work it may take 
to reach such a place, and experience if but for 
a moment, that pleasing, voluntary isolation 
from the whole world. 

After a good rest they started back, and 
reached the Lodge in time for dinner, and 
shortly afterwards they bade their friends 
“good-bye,” and getting into a carriage, 
started on their drive to Cascade Lakes. This 
was mostly over a table-land, after emerging 
from the forests about Clear Lake. Then as 
they drew near Cascade Lakes, they entered 
the woods again and soon reached the lakes. 

If Avalanche and Colden Lakes were the 
wildest they had seen, Cascade Lakes were 
certainly the loveliest. Narrow, and each 
about two miles long, and merely separated by 
a narrow strip of land, on which stands the 
hotel, they lie in a deep ravine between two 
ranges of mountains. Looking out either way 
can be seen a most beautiful picture, soft and 
varying, and a perfect scene for an artist to 
depict. 

Here the Sport and Chap took another row 
over one of these lovely bodies of water, going 
leisurely along and enjoying to their fullest 
extent the perfect sunset, both water and 
skies assuming the lovely tints of gold and 


A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE. 


139 


red. The next day they started early in their 
carriage for the drive to Westport, on Lake 
Champlain. 

September is a charming time anywhere, 
but there in the wilderness it is particularly so. 
The foliage of many of the trees had already 
changed, and the brilliant tints of red, gold 
and bronze-browns of some of them, contrasted 
with dark colors of the evergreen trees. And 
the mountain air felt cool and crisp against 
their faces, and the long breaths of it seemed 
to infuse new life each moment. 

On through lovely Keene Centre they drove, 
past the quiet little hotels and cottages lying 
between the high mountains; on past occasional 
lakes, ever reaching lower and lower ground, 
getting superb views of White Face and other 
peaks, until Elizabethtown is reached, that 
spot so much patronized, and full of so many 
pretty hotels ; on and on, ever descending, 
until the farthest spurs of the Adirondacks are 
reached, and they drive along the prettily 
shaded roads of Westport up to Westport Inn, 
on Lake Champlain. 

Here they remained over night. They were 
charmed with Westport, its comfortable and 
cozy inn, its pretty streets and houses, and the 
distant view of the Vermont Mountains and the 
big lake. 


140 A MOUNTAIN RAMBUK. 

The next day, on the Champlain steamer, 
they had still better views of the lake and its 
lovely shores, and on reaching the end, a short 
ride in the cars brought them to Take George. 

Lake George — the most beautiful lake of 
America — many are the stories and associations 
that linger about its shores; many are the peo- 
ple who have gazed, enraptured on its magnifi- 
cent stretch of water, its coves and bays, its 
green-covered islands, its chains of mountains 
that surround its sides ! To see is to appreciate 
it ; to appreciate it, is to bring it up long after 
in one’s dreams. And its very names call up 
memories. Its name, “Horican,” pictures to 
one the savage Indian, before the white man 
had ruined him, and brings to mind those rare 
stories of Cooper, so full of romance and 
glamour of the native race ; its name, ‘ ‘ Lake of 
the Blessed Sacrament,” brings up the French- 
man who called it by this title, and makes one 
think how much the susceptible nature of the 
Frenchmen must have been overcome, when 
they used this sacred name to give sufficient 
honor to this fairy bit of water. And at ’this 
lovely lake fittingly ends the record of the 
first visit of the tramps to the Adirondacks, a 
trip it is hoped they will always recall with the 
rarest of pleasure. 


“A Jolly Good Time!” 


O NCE more were “the tramps” about to 
enter the mountains, this time driving 
in from Plattsburg. 

They were in great spirits, and even a rather 
quiet driver, and an accident to the carriage 
that detained them quite a while, could not 
cast a damper on them. They sang, they 
whistled, they spouted aloud, covering the 
whole ground from the poetical and sublime to 
the ridiculous, but never a smile or show of 
appreciation could they call to that driver’s 
face. 

After about a five-hour’s drive, covering 
about twenty-five miles, they came to the Au 
Sable Forks, where they decided to pay atten- 
tion to the cravings of the inner man, which 
made itself felt. 

It was a mistake. The inner man chanced 
to be particular and he was not pleased with 
what was provided — in other words, the inner 
man kicked, for it would be hard to see a worse 
dinner. 


142 


A JOI<I<Y GOOD TIME. 


Late that afternoon the tramps were put 
down at a little inn in the quiet little hamlet of 
Wilmington. 

Completely sheltered and surrounded by the 
mountains, here quite high, lies the valley, in 
which a dozen or so buildings form the little 
town. To the right old Whiteface Mountain 
towered thousands of feet high, while through 
the valley and town the Au Sable River flowed 
quietly along, far different from the rushing 
torrent that it is further up towards the North. 

This lovely little stream fascinated the 
tramps and as it was still a few hours before 
dark, they took a boat, and impressing into 
their service a small boy for a pilot, they 
started to explore it. 

If you ever wish to know anything about a 
stream of water, take a small boy and catechise 
him. He knows the shallows and the deep 
places; where the best places for a swim are; 
where the fish are thickest ; in fact, there are 
few things about water the average small boy 
doesn’t know, except how to avoid being 
drowned, in exceptional cases now and then. 

Chap’s face wore a longing look. He 
wanted a swim. Presently the cool, clear 
water’s charms were too much for him and he 
broached the subject to the Sport and said he 
“ must go in.” 


A JOI.I.Y GOOD TIME. 


143 


The small boy sat on the bank and watched, 
and presently saw two figures rise from the 
boat, and free of clothes plunge into the stream. 

Talk of the pleasures of the city, and then 
think of swimming in a cool mountain river, 
with no one to see as you revel in the water, in 
nature’s wilderness ! 

That little inn was a cozy place. A married 
couple and two rather young girls — all from 
Brooklyn — had charge of things, and it was not 
long before the tramps were perfectl}^ at home 
with this party, and sitting in the moonlight 
on the little porch, felt like old friends. 

The Sport with his usual good fortune, or 
perhaps Chap would say ‘ ‘ unbounded nerve, ’ ’ 
had gotten the youngest and prettiest girl for 
a tete-a-tete. Hour after hour passed. The 
married couple went inside ; Chap’s girl after 
lingering awhile longer also retired ; Chap was 
left alone, for a tete-a-tete couple never counts, 
and for a few moments he strolled up and down 
hoping the other couple would take the hint. 
No, they were too engrossed. Finally Chap 
“turned in,” and had been long asleep in his 
“little bed” when the Sport appeared. On 
being quizzed by Chap on the subject, the 
Sport cooly obser\^ed that he couldn’t get 
away ! Oh ! what want of truthfulness in a 
bold, bad man ! 


144 


A JOLLY GOOD TIME. 


Early the following day, with a solid-looking 
guide, the tramps started to climb Old White- 
face. They had been told it would be very 
hard work, and a day’s trip, but they were 
determined to waste no time about it, but to 
get back early in the afternoon. It is six 
miles from Wilmington to the summit of 
Whiteface, and a hard and difficult climb, as 
two mountain peaks have to be crossed first, 
and the trail is rough and in one part very 
confusing, where the timber has been burned 
by the forest fires. Then the continued ascent 
becomes wearisome, and when half-way up the 
rarified air makes breathing difficult. 

Reaching the summit at last, they threw 
themselves on the flat rock to view the 
scene at their feet. 

For miles around they could see. Hundreds 
of lakes shone like silver in the sun, some but 
little specks, others large bodies of water ; 
quiet valleys lay silent and peaceful in among 
the giant mountains ; here pointed peaks raised 
their summits to the sky, bold and black ; there 
lower and flatter mountains with thickly wooded 
spurs rounded off to the dense forests that lay 
at their base ; scarcely a house or sign of man 
could be seen, save where scattered patches 
here and there, in gaps of the forests, showed 
where some little settlement was. Seen from 


A JOLLY GOOD TIMK. 


145 


an elevation a mile above the sea level, the 
view was sublime, and one long to be remem- 
bered. All sense of fatigue disappeared. The 
hard, toilsome climb, the scrambles and falls, 
were all forgotten, and there above the world, 
with this panorama of forest, lake and moun- 
tain spread beneath them, the tramps revelled 
in the beauty of the scene. 

Presently some other climbers appeared. 
They had ascended by way of Lake Placid — 
a much shorter, but far rougher and more 
dangerous climb. One of these climbers was 
a German of about middle age, and evidently 
rather an original fellow. It was very funny, 
but withal incongruous, when he took from his 
pocket a mouth-organ and played “Annie 
Rooney. ’ ’ Imagine it — up there in the clouds, 
(that is when clouds are about), to hear 
“Annie Rooney !’’ 

The tramps took a last look around and 
started to descend. It was far quicker going 
this way than going up. Scrambling, sliding, 
running, they rapidly gained the lower ground 
and by and by were hurrying along the road 
that led to the town. Reaching there, they 
found they had just been about six hours on 
the trip. Turning from the road, the tramps 
and their guide walked to the little river, and 
taking a boat, soon rowed to a place where 


10 


146 


A JOLI.Y GOOD TIME. 


they could swim. To their tired and heated 
bodies and stone-bruised feet, the cool waters 
were very refreshing, and they splashed and 
swam about to their heart’s content. What a 
luxury cold water is ! 

Reaching the inn after their swim, they did 
full justice to the dinner awaiting them. 

The dining-room, if such it could be called, 
was in the basement, in which there was a 
large pump. The sen^ant girl was completely 
demoralized by the Sport asking to be con- 
nected with the pump, in other words to be 
given a glass of water ! She probably thought 
polite society strange ! 

Feeling lazy and comfortable after their hard 
morning’s exercise, they started in the after- 
noon for Cascade Lakes, going by way of the 
famed Wilmington Notch. 

The driver was an old man who had for 
years been a guide in that region, and having 
once taken a trip as far as New York City, was 
full of great and wonderful schemes for the 
opening up and the improvement of the section 
through which they were driving — an opening 
up and so-called improvement that would do 
away with the chief charm of the place, his 
hearers thought. 

As they drove along, the strip of land lying 
between the mountain ranges began to grow 


A JOI.I.Y GOOD TIMK. 


147 


more narrow, as the high peaks seemed to 
crowd in on them. Soon they were right in 
what is called the Notch proper. By some it 
is likened to the canons of Colorado, and if 
not as grand or awe-inspiring, perhaps it is 
just as beautiful. Through a steep and narrow 
chasm the Au Sable dashes along, now falling 
in foaming cascades, then rushing in sparkling 
rapids, or else widening outward somewhat 
forms a comparatively calm little bay or haven. 
And on the sides rising up are the giant ranges 
of the mountains, here black or grey ledges of 
rock, there pine-clad steeps. 

The drive must be seen to be appreciated, as 
far as beauty is concerned, and must be felt to 
be understood, as far as comfort is considered, 
for as there is scarcely enough of a pathway 
for the carriage and horses to make their way, 
the passage is attended by a good deal of dis- 
comfort and bumps. 

By and by they drew up from the Notch, 
and made their way to the highlands about 
North Elba. It was almost dark as they 
passed the few straggling houses of this little 
settlement, and started on their lonely drive of 
six or seven miles to Cascade Lakes. 

Presently the moon came up, shedding her 
bright beams over the wild mountain scene. 

Bang, bump, “ whoa, ” “ dang it ! ” and all 


148 


A JOLLY GOOD TIME. 


in a minute’s time the horses had been fright- 
ened, had started to run, had been stopped and 
the wagon found to be broken! 

There was no help for it, and there they were 
“ stranded,” as it were, on the lonely heights, 
where the air was already becoming very 
chilly and cold. 

“Wal!” said the driver, ‘‘if you young 
colts don’t mind waitin’ here a bit. I’ll takeout 
them thar horses and ride on a bit, to a place 
where’s thar’s a house, and borry a ‘rig. ’ ” 
Ye’re not afeard, are ye, boys ? ” 

No, ‘ ‘ the boys ’ ’ were not ‘ ‘ afeard. ” So off 
he went, and pretty soon was out of sight, and 
the sound of footsteps had died away. The 
tramps moved about a little to keep warm, 
tried to joke a little, and sing a little, but the 
quiet of the scene was impressive and pretty 
soon dead silence settled upon them. Presen tlj^ 
a low gurgling sound was heard, and ‘ ‘ horesco 
referens ” (as Virgil has it). Chap was seen 
taking a drink of whiskey, ‘‘ to warm him up,” 
he said. 

Ah ! what a misfortune to be as delicate as 
Chap, to be so afraid of soaking and chills as 
often to need a little of the ‘ ‘ cray ture ! ’ ’ 

After what seemed a very long wait, the 
driver returned, and in due time they drove 
through the dense forests surrounding Cas- 


A JOtl^Y GOOD TIME. I49 

cade Lakes, and were ushered into the warm 
hall-way of the Cascade House. 

“By Jove, it’s raining. Sport ! ’’ Such was 
the disconsolate remark of Chap next day. 

Presently, however, though cloudy, the rain 
ceased to fall, and the tramps took a boat and 
rowed over one lake, and then coming back 
and taking another boat, rowed over the other 
lake. Here Chap’s mania once again asserted 
itself — ^he must have a swim ! 

The cold air didn’t deter him, the chance of 
being seen by the ladies (for there was a hotel 
on this lake) didn’t frighten him, the danger 
of cutting himself on hidden rocks or trunks 
did’nt influence him, but in he went. The 
Sport, kind brother as he is, sat and watched 
to give warning of people coming. 

In the afternoon, once more esconced in a 
wagon, they started for Keene Valley. It 
poured ! But the clouds, instead of spoiling 
the view, only seemed to enhance the rare 
beauty and real grandeur of the drive. Late 
in the afternoon they alighted at St. Hu- 
bert’s Inn. 

A more beautifully located hotel could hardly 
be imagined ! Built on an elevation at the 
end of a little valley, it looked on a panorama 
of mountain and forest and quiet valley rarely 


150 A JOLLY GOOD TIME. 

to be equalled. The highest peaks of the Adi- 
rondacks rose on all sides of the little valley, 
some with sharp pointed peaks, some with 
rounded summits, while dark clefts here and 
there showed the passes to the country lying 
beyond. 

Early the next morning, the tramps were 
awake and with guide and necessary equipment 
they started for “the lakes,” the beautiful Au 
Sable Ponds. They could not complain that 
the first part of their tramp was rough, for it 
lay along a beautifully shaded fairly-good 
driveway. Three and a half miles brought 
them to the Tower Au Sable Lake, and afforded 
them their first view of this lovely sheet of 
water. 

It is often likened to the Swiss Lakes. Long 
and narrow, with waters black from their 
depth, it extends in a sort of half circle be- 
tween two winding walls of rock, steep, bare 
and stern, except where here and there the 
pines have managed to grow down to the edge. 
Mount Colvin rises abruptly up from the 
water. High up on the mountain is such a 
good representation of a face in the rock, that 
it is called “ Indian Head.” On this lake are 
the ice caves, little holes in the rock so deep 
that the ice formed there during the preceding 
winter never entirely melts. 



Lower Au Sable. 


t 













• • 




m » I . 




t- -S; '■' 





-• _* * -a . ■ 


< ; 










r* - 





;^ . ;. .V; 'V ; . ' r :- v . . . • ? 

'tr- » '■ ■• - •’* ^ - 

-"'■ , - .. 0 !^/Vr A ■ . 







v*'»- * ;; 

Sra^ ,* ■„ 



'>V i 





1^ 


. • -» ■ M A‘'S/' '» 'ml V. M 

••• ^^^^BitiBVjB8r ^ •*,- ’• ■ '• 




^ - r ; V ' ^ » W ' - 





%->£r,. ' -■- 

^^-'jr*-.*' --W 

^►T' 3 - 5 “ •- 




r* 1 .^ M ^ ^ 

■’.V'*- 



#'■ '*• : *• 


V * ics 




A JOI.LY GOOD TIME. 


151 

Landing at the other end they followed a 
forest trail for about a mile and a half to the 
Upper Au Sable Lake. The trail was wild and 
beautiful, but all thoughts of the trail were 
lost when the superb view of the Upper 
Lake burst on their eyes. 

Almost round in shape, it lies at the foot of 
most of the highest moimtains of the Adiron- 
dacks. Saddle-back, Resagonia, The Gothics, 
Mount Colvin, Haystack, Basin and a number 
of others rise from its sides, rocky or green, 
superb in their grandeur, beautiful in their 
coloring and solemn in the air of strength, rest 
and stillness that seems to linger about them. 

Rowing to a camp made of logs, the earth 
covered with fragrant balsam boughs, they 
landed for dinner. After a cooling swim 
while the guide cooked the meal, the tramps 
sat down to a dinner they did ample justice to. 
Beefsteak, deliciously boiled potatoes, bread, 
cakes and coffee (of which they drank huge 
tin cups), rapidly disappeared, and it may be 
doubted if the most tempting dainties of our 
nineteenth century civilization could have pro- 
vided a more appetizing meal. One who has 
not tried it, never can realize the intense 
pleasure of the mid-day rest after the violent 
exercise of a mountain climb or a forest walk. 
So it was with our tramps as they sat awhile 


152 


A JOLLY GOOD TIME. 


after their meal, resting their tired bodies, 
while they breathed the glorious, pure air of 
the mountains, fragrant with the smell of the 
pines, and feasted their eyes on the beautiful 
scene before them. 

Later on they took their boat and rowed 
completely around this Upper Lake, thus 
gaining a still better view of the mountain 
peaks. 

It was late in the afternoon when they 
reached the Inn, after having retraced their 
steps along the way they had come. 

Their day’s work was not yet over, for they 
were determined to see Chapel Pond by moon- 
light, and had engaged their guide for the trip. 
They started about eight. The night was clear 
and starlight, and the air was chill and cold 
but just the night for a walk. It was about a 
five-mile tramp to Chapel Pond and back. On 
they trudged, entertained by the guide’s 
stories. 

By and by the road became very gloomy. 
It wound round the spur of a mountain, and 
on one side they could see the black vagueness 
of a deep ravine, for the high mountains hid 
the moon as yet. The guide told them of ac- 
cidents that had happened here and there, 
pointed out a landslide, and added a few more 
stories that for some reason or other became 


A JOI.LY GOOD TIME. 


153 


more startling as they went on. At last they 
reached Chapel Pond, and scrambled down to 
a little boat-landing on one side. 

The lake’s almost precipitous sides were 
closely covered with pines, and the water 
looked dark, black and sullen. Scarcely a 
sound was heard. It seemed like a weird and 
haunted place, so still and black everything 
was. 

Slowly, a pale white light seemed to creep 
over the water, until at last all of one side not 
protected by the shadow of the trees, was 
bright with the rays of the moon, now fairly 
risen in the heavens and shining calmly and 
serenely down on that dark lake and gorge. 

A whim took the Sport to try moonlight 
fishing; so he and the guide tried their hand at 
it, while Chap sat meditatively on a log and 
drank in the beauty of the scene and dwelt on 
the thoughts it aroused. Then home again to 
enjoy the sound, deep sleep that comes to tired 
mortals. 

^ ^ * 

The next morning they left the beautiful 
Keene Valley for their long tramp to Schroon 
Lake, over the mountains, about fifty miles or 
thereabouts distant. 

Their luggage they expressed to Saratoga, 
and with one little satchel on shoulder, and 


154 


A JOLI<Y GOOD TIME. 


pack and rifle, they started — the Sport, Chap 
and the guide. 

Part of their way was the same as the day 
before. Three and a half miles walk to the 
Lower Au Sable Lake, two and a half miles 
row across it and a little ways up the stream 
to where they struck the trail, then a mile and 
a quarter walk to the Upper Lake, and by 
boat to their camp, where again followed a 
swim and a “bang up” dinner. They en- 
joyed, if possible, still more the loveliness of 
the scenery. 

Early in the afternoon they started once 
more in their boat to reach the trail over Boreas 
Mountain. 

At the end of the Upper Au Sable they en- 
tered the mouth of a tiny river, and up it they 
proceeded. Up, up, up it they rowed, along 
its winding twisting length. Gradually it grew 
narrower and shallower. ' Trees and bushes 
overhung the water, while rocks, logs, and long 
grasses made the rowing slow and difficult. 

On they went, the little river now only a 
shallow creek, winding its way along. Every 
moment the foliage overhead grew more dense, 
until the branches seemed to form a canopy 
above them ; the bushes more closely grew 
around; the water became still more shallow 
and choked up, until recourse had to be had to 


A JOLLY GOOD TIME. 


155 


a paddle, and the oars abandoned. Still on 
they went, forcing their way foot by foot up 
the tiny stream, now dodging their heads to 
avoid an overturned tree or a protruding bush 
or rock, until with a last push and stroke of 
the paddle they landed at the foot of the 
Boreas trail, at a spot entirely shut in by the 
densest forest growth, completely stopping 
further navigation. 

Now the hard work began. Bracing them- 
selves to it, the guide and the two tramps 
started at a rapid pace to cover the trail and 
cross the Boreas range of moimtains. 

They had seen perhaps a still wilder forest 
in the walk to Avalanche Lake, but in some 
respects this tramp was harder, for up and 
down the trail went, over rocks, trees, in and 
out the debris of recent storms, until the mus- 
cles began to feel the toil, and the wind began 
to give out. Intense quiet reigned, no sounds 
being heard save that of their own voices, and 
of the wind sighing in the tree-tops above. 

Presently they came to soft swampy ground, 
and the guide told them they were drawing 
near Elk Lake, a famous place for deer. Here 
the guide seemed rather irresolute and finallj^ 
admitted that though he knew where they 
were, he was rather at a loss to find the way 
to the part of the lake they wished to reach. 


156 A JOLLY GOOD TIMK. 

But they did reach it and found it was a dole- 
ful sight. The water had overflowed its banks, 
and there were acres of blighted gray trees 
standing in the water, all the foliage dead. 
As they rowed in an old flat-bottom boat 
towards the far end of the lake, they had a per- 
fect view of the highest peaks, from this side, 
and as it was late in the afternoon the shadows 
on the sides were beautiful to see. After 
about a two-mile row they reached the end, 
where stood a little house. Here the tramps 
bade adieu to their guide, and after a short rest 
started along the old log road for the main road 
to Schroon. 

The tramps were tired, for theirs had been a 
hard day’s work, and the road was rough and 
not particularly interesting, as they were 
leaving the rugged scenery of the wilderness 
behind them and gradually descending to the 
lower but very beautiful mountains still about 
Schroon Take. 

After about a five-mile tramp, during 
which they had passed some very pretty lakes 
and had some delightful views, the Forks are 
reached. Here the tramps gave in for a time, 
and going to a little inn ordered supper. 

It was a very plain but fairly substantial 
meal, and though their surroundings were not 
of the best, the tramps thought life was very 
pleasant. 


A JOLLY GOOD TIME. 


157 


After a few minutes rest they started along 
the big stage road to Schroon River, some five 
and a half miles distant. They were bound to 
reach it that day. 

On and on they plodded. The night came 
on and soon thick darkness settled about them. 
There was no danger now of becoming lost, 
for all they had to do was to follow the road. 
Conversation flagged, for the tramps were be- 
ginning to feel very tired. Several times they 
thought they had reached Schroon River, as 
they came across several little houses bunched 
together, but no, they had to keep on. 

At last, however, the haven was reached and 
their walk for that day ended, they being 
ushered into a comfortable little inn. The 
tramps, tired as they were, felt pleased with 
themselves, for altogether since starting that 
morning they had rowed about seven miles, 
and walked about nineteen miles, some of it 
the toughest mountain trail. They soon 
“ turned in,” expecting a good night’s rest to 
brace them up for the eleven miles that lay be- 
fore them the next morning, before they would 
reach Schroon Take proper. 

But ah ! How often are one’s hopes disap- 
pointed in this world ! This time it was a 
party of night birds who did it, for towards the 
middle of the night, the tramps awakened and 


158 A JOI.I.Y GOOD TIME. 

became aware of something going on below. 
There was the sound of a fiddle and dancing 
and loud laughing. Then singing was resorted 
to, to the accompaniment of a squeaky melo- 
deon. They sang “Sweet Dreams” and 
“ Merrily we roll away,” and “ Farewell.” 

Oh ! the irony of it all. How the two 
tramps wished their bringing up had been such 
that they could have indulged in unlimited 
“cussing.” 

As it was, it would not be safe to repeat 
what may have been said in their suffering ! 
But all things have their end, and so did this 
party, and at last sleep wrapped again in her 
arms the tired tramps. 

Drizzling rain ! Wet, dismal, cold ! What 
hard luck to find such an outlook the next 
morning! They could have engaged a car- 
riage or ‘ ‘ rig, ’ ’ but their pride would not allow 
them. They had started to walk to Schroon 
Take and were bound to do it or “ bust.” 

Out in the drizzle they started. Somehow 
the tramps did not feel in a particularly pleas- 
ant mood, and when the rain began to come 
down hard, they began to think it would have 
been better to have sacrificed their pride and 
taken the “rig.” 

Chap ventured to make some remarks, that 


A JOLI.Y GOOD TIMK. 


159 


“ It wasn’t so bad, and that they would soon 
be at the end of their joinney, for they must 

have walked so many miles, ’ ’ but the other 

tramp promptly “ sat on ” him. 

After a very hard, disagreeable walk of eleven 
miles or thereabouts, they reached Schroon 
River, where they had to run to connect with 
the steamboat — looking like two of about as 
tough looking tramps as gentlemen could be. 

Down Schroon Lake is the steamboat, then 
a ride in the stage to the Blue Mountain Rail- 
road, and by “ the iron horse ” to Saratoga. 

Enter Saratoga two toughs, in old clothes, 
shoes covered with mud and muck, unshorn 
beards, sunburnt hands and faces, veritably 
“tough.” Later two Philadelphia men, in 
patent leather shoes, clothes the latest cut, 
clean, bright looking faces — the two toughs 
transformed ! 

And as they sat down to a first-class dinner 
at the United States Hotel, they decided they 
had had a glorious old time, with lots of fun — 
a trip that had done them lots of good in health 
and spirits, but still it was “ awfully nice ” to 
be civilized once more, and as the Sport added: 

‘ ‘ to sit down to a ‘ bang up ’ dinner like this, 
instead of Adirondack fare. Well ! for good- 
ness sake ! Champagne! Well ! Here’s to 
you I And may the same happy time await all 
who go to the beautiful Adirondacks.” 


A MOTHER’S Love. 


T hey lived in a little house on the line of 
one of the lines of travel through the 
Adirondacks — her husband, herself and 
her baby. No more desolate surroundings 
could be imagined. It was somewhat out of 
the heart of the mountains, but high up on 
one of the flat plains or table-lands lying be- 
tween some of the larger lakes. Once covered 
by a beautiful forest and rich in all the wealth 
of the woods in the way of ferns, mosses and 
bushes, it had been lumbered some years back, 
and another growth of dwarfed, stunted little 
trees had succeeded the giant pines and 
birches of the forest. The stage road now led 
through this country, and along it were occa- 
sional houses and cabins, inhabited by the 
natives, mostly poor and wanting in comforts. 

Somewhat away from the other houses — the 
nearest one being two miles off— was this 
poorer one, so little it seemed hardly possible 
that three persons could live in it. Every- 
thing, however, was scrupulously neat. The 


A mother’s EOVE. l6l 

only sign of a luxury to be seen was a little 
pine box covered with bark, in which bloomed 
a sunflower, and this plant the possessors re- 
garded as their choicest treasure. The 
man was a wood-chopper, employed by 
one of the lumbering companies who earned 
rich profits in cutting down the noble trees so 
bountifully scattered here by nature, and who 
had done so much harm to the State and 
people in so doing, for the cutting away of the 
trees had resulted in many of the richest lands 
drying up, in the lowering of many lakes and 
in the lessening of the water shed of the 
whole State. 

One day Jim was away with these lumberers, 
and alone his wife was busy in little things about 
her small house, and in the care of a pretty 
little baby, who crowed when he saw her. 

It had not rained for weeks, and the woods 
were as dry as tinder, and people were praying 
for rain, for they knew if the dry spell continued 
forest fires were bound to occur, and then in- 
calculable damage and loss of life were sure 
to follow. 

The mother had left her baby sound asleep 
and was going in search of her one little cow, 
when she thought she noticed the smell of 
burning wood. She stopped and sniffed. It 
certainly did smell like fire, and as she thought 


II 


i 62 


A mother’s EOVK. 


what it meant, a thrill of fear ran through her, 
for fire to her meant dreadful danger. 

She knew her husband would not return for 
some days, if not weeks, but her anxiety was not 
for him, for he, she well knew, could take care 
of himself. It was for herself and baby. Dash- 
ing to the door she looked out and to her horror 
she saw a cloud of smoke and little darting 
flames approaching from the side of the stage- 
road, where the forest was on fire, thus cutting 
off all chance of escape there. On the other 
side lay the lumbered region covered with the 
stunted trees, a melancholy, ghastly looking 
stretch, with occasional bodies of water here 
and there. 

Her heart sank within her. To stay meant 
a horrible death — to go meant a wild race across 
that lumbered tract to the green forest beyond, 
with the hopes of reaching water. 

Snatching up her baby, who commenced to 
laugh and crow, the poor little one not under- 
standing the dreadful danger, she started. 

On she sped, seeing the long line of flame 
and smoke drawing near. Running, walking, 
stumbling, she managed to get over consider- 
able ground, until at last she had to pause and 
rest. 

She felt so tired, the baby was so heavy, her 
breath came and went in gasps, she thought 
she could not go on. 


A mother’s EOVE. 163 

She looked back. There was the fire rapidly 
drawing nearer. Tet it come, she could but 
die ! She glanced at her baby, who was lying 
in her arms, kicking its little bare feet glee- 
fully. Could she let the fire burn that baby of 
hers! No, no I Bending to kiss her child, with 
a prayer to God, she dashed on again. Only 
a little ways and then a sharp pain seized her 
side, and she felt her heart beat as if it would 
break. 

What could she do ? Oh I That Jim was 
there I Oh I That the people in the other 
houses had warned her of the approaching fire. 

She glanced around despairingly, as if in 
hopes of aid. No one in sight — not that any- 
one could cope against the fire, that wall of 
smoke and flame pursuing her I Stay 1 Was 
that a gleam of water ahead. Yes, there was 
a tiny pond surrounded by bushes and half 
covered by water lilies, and she saw that there 
was her only hope. 

With a last desperate effort she fled onward. 
Already she felt the heat of the fire; already 
its sparks and cinders were blowing over her 
and falling about her, already the smoke was 
blinding and smarting her eyes. And now 
the baby was crying — poor, innocent little 
thing — thus early in life to be so frightened and 
so threatened with terrible danger. 


i 64 a mother’s love. 

The mother staggered on. Only a few steps 
more. Could she make it ? , Could she gain 
that water ? 

Nearer — almost there, but there was the fire 
almost at her back. She fell to the ground, 
but instantly arose. See gained the pond, 
dashed along its litttle bank as best she could 
and there drawn up on the shore she found the 
little boat she knew was on the pond. Strength 
seemed to be given her — for with a tremendous 
effort she pushed the boat far out into the 
water and threw herself into it, her impetus 
carrying the boat out to the middle of the little 
pond. 

The fire came and burnt around the shores 
of the pond ; the hot sparks and cinders fell in 
showers over it ; the blinding smoke envel- 
oped it — and the fire then passed by and there 
safe and sound from the flames was the boat. 

The little baby again crowed with delight 
and raised his dimpled hands and punched his 
mother’s face, as she lay flat in the boat; he 
kicked his little feet with joy, for he was not 
used to boats, and his novel position pleased 
him ; then he crawled on his fat little knees up 
to his mother’s arms and placed his little head 
on his mother’s bosom and crowed — such a 
sweet, loving crow, and so dear to a mother’s 
heart — but that mother lay silent in the bottom 


A mother’s IvOVB. 165 

of the boat, for her fear and exertion had been 
too much for her poor weak heart, and that 
last effort had cost her her hfe. But on her 
homely face, full of lines and the marks of 
care, was a sweet smile of content and peace, 
for she had given her life for her child, whom 
she knew Jim would soon find there, and she 
knew her child was safe. 


I’M Going Home. 


H e was devoted to the woods. From early 
boyhood he was wont to wander amid 
the shawody aisles, drinking in the fresh 
fragrance of the forest, and studying each twig, 
blossom or growing thing he saw. 

On a sunshiny day the woods seemed to him 
as if peopled with little fairies and little elves 
singing and dancing gayly; when it rained, 
it seemed to him as if the drops formed little 
ladders from earth to heaven, up and down 
which airy forms would ascend and descend. 

For days he would bury himself in the depths, 
until he came to be regarded as “ queer. He 
never knew his mother and father, and he felt 
that no one seemed to care for him, and that 
he was looked upon as a cumbrance. 

He often had queer singings and buzzings in 
his head, and sometimes he tried to recollect 
something that happened — but it all seemed so 
dim and shadowy and long ago — and all he 
could recall was a vague remembrance of some 
blow on the head which had stunned him and 


I’m going homk. 


167 


had given him these queer feelings, but whether 
given to him by some man, he did not know. 

Ofttimes a big hard lump would rise in his 
little throat, as he thought no one loved him, 
but called him “ queer ” and ‘ ‘ that little imp,” 
and now and then the tears would trickle down 
his thin cheeks. Then he would go to the 
woods and tramp far, far away, until he hardly 
knew where he was. The wild animals never 
seemed to mind him and certainly never at- 
tempted to hurt him. Yes, he loved the woods 
and the trees, ahd they seemed to whisper to 
him and he felt they told him wonderful tales 
of a strange land far, far off, and of beautiful 
beings who lived there and did nothing but 
sing and be joyful. Then a far away, longing 
look would come into his eyes, and he would 
gaze wistfully into the distance as if trying to 
peirce a veil which seemed held up before his 
eyes. 

One summer he met some people — a lady 
and her husband — who were kind to him, and 
they persuaded him to go far away with them 
to a big city, where lots and lots of houses 
and big marble buildings were, but no woods 
in which to roam. 

And then an old man came and looked at 
him and examined him thoroughly. Then 
the old man shook his head and said some 


i68 


I’m going home. 


strange words about “ spinal trouble and 
partial paralysis of the brain, and must have 
struck his back.” Yes, there was that word 
again, he had been struck. Then the kind 
lady and gentleman came to him and seemed 
to feel so sorry for him, and the lady cried a 
good deal and kissed him. 

He longed for the woods and soon he 
became weak and ill from never wandering 
there. He begged to be taken back to the 
woods, but they would not do it. He became 
weaker and weaker and sooii could not leave 
his bed. The kind lady seemed ever by his 
side, and so beautiful she looked as she would 
bend over and kiss him, that he almost forgot 
about his loved forests. 

One day he woke, but he felt so queerly. 
There was the sun shining in the open win- 
dows, through which he had a view of a distant 
church spire and some tall trees near by. He 
could hear the happy chirp of the birds out- 
side, and they seemed to be carrying him back 
in thought to the forests once more. The 
kind lady was bending over him and the 
gentleman was near by. 

All the buzzing in his head ceased and he 
seemed to dream what he never had dreamed 
before. He dreamed he saw a pretty little 
cottage and his father and mother so devoted 


I’m going home. 


169 


to him. And then he saw all three of them on 
their way through the Adirondacks, and then 
he saw himself go to the edge of a bluff to look 
over, only to fall far down to a ravine below ; 
then he remembered crawling out a long, long 
way, and being found by a bad old man, who 
took him to live with him; then he saw his 
father and mother weepingly having a search 
made for his little body, not finding it and giv- 
ing him up for lost. And now he felt he was 
dying. He could think and see as he never 
had before, and before his eyes flashed visions 
of that beautiful far-distant land, where angels 
and saints were, and where sweet music 
sounded, and where all was joy and happiness, 
and he knew he was dying. 

Suddenly all came to him like a flash, the 
flash of returning consciousness — the last 
splutter of the candle burning to its end — for 
he was dying. 

And with a glad cry he raised himself and 
threw his little arms around the kind lady’s 
neck, and put his head down on her bosom, 
and as he felt her hot tears on his face he 
closed his eyes contentedly and murmured, 
‘ ‘ My own darling mother, my own darling 
mother, I’m going home ! ” 


The Guide’s Story. 


T he fire was blazing cheerily ; the stars 
were twinkling brightly in the sky 
above ; the moon was casting her soft, 
silvery beams over the waters of the lake, 
making a pretty play of lights and shadows in 
the trees in which the little camp was almost 
hidden. 

It was a happy looking group, reclining in 
various attitudes suggestive of comfort, on the 
fragrant balsam boughs with which the camp 
was spread, as they watched the blazing logs 
and listened to the stories being told. There 
were five in all, three men and two members 
of the fair sex, who should have been men- 
tioned first. 

Robert Eee, having lost himself in the 
Indian Pass some years back, had distinguished 
himself again by losing his heart to her who 
was now Mrs. Lee, and as the fire lighted up 
her pretty face, with its dark eyes and hair, 
and its sweet smile, Lee could not help think- 
ing he was indeed blessed. Mrs. Lee loved 


THK guide’s story. 171 

the woods, and slender and girlish as she 
looked, she was a good walker and climber. 

So with her sister, familiarly known as the 
jolly Miss Kitt3^ Brown, who had several times 
distinguished herself by killing a deer, and 
with Lee’s friend, Rodney Ransom, they had 
gone with a guide into the wilderness for an 
outing. 

Their guide was a man full of dry humor, 
and coupled with his knowledge of the woods 
and his fund of rare old stories — which he in- 
sisted, with an appearance of truth showing in 
his tanned and weatherbeaten face, were true — 
he indeed was a jewel. 

He was now deep in a story. 

“ Wal, gentlemen,” he was saying, ” you 
fellers come up to the mountains and you go 
into the woods and you allers want to have 
stories. But what’s the use of us telling you 
things, what’s the use — you never believe 
them. Now I could tell you people something 
very strange that happened in this very lake, 
but what’s the use, what’s the use, you’d 
laugh and say ’twas whiskey ! ” and he 
looked aggrieved. 

“ Come now, Norris, we don’t. Bob and I 
believe every word. Don’t we. Bob?” said 
Ransom, with a wink which the guide did not 
notice, ” and the ladies, they swear by you ! ” 


172 


THE guide’s story. 


“Of course we do, Norris. Go on and try 
us,” said Mrs. Lee. 

The guide looked inquiringly from one to 
the other, and apparently being assured, he 
cleared his throat and began. They settled 
themselves after first giving the fire a poke. 

“Wal,” began the guide, in a drawding, 
slow voice, “have ye read Murray’s story of 
Phantom Falls ? Wal ! it ain’t true. There’s 
not a man guiding in these parts who could go 
over those falls, and as for phantoms and 
sperrits, he never saw any ’cept he found 
them in his ‘little brown jug.’ ” Here the 
guide chuckled. “ But as I was saying, / 
have seen things and had an experience here 
on this very lake — the Au Sable — that is raally 
true, raally bony jidy true, ’ ’ looking around to 
see if any of his hearers seemed to question, 
but finding they were all listening with demure 
faces, he seemed to gain courage. 

“ One night, I was sitting smoking my pipe, 
and was thinking lots. It was one of these 
cloudy nights, and was warm, and as I sat 
here by the water’s edge, I could see a faint 
mist rising up from the surface. Suddenly I 
saw a thin white streak of light shining right 
through this mist, kinder ghostly. Wal ! I 
don’t believe in sperrits, so thinks I, ’tis the 
moon. But as I looked, it seemed to move. 


THK GUIDE’S STORY. 


173 


now forward, then back. I began to feel 
kinder scared, and sorter creepy, but I made 
up my mind, that sperrit or not, I was going to 
find out what it was doin’ out on the lake at 
that time of night. So I went and got my 
boat and taking my gun, took a paddle and 
began paddling out to that there queer light. 
Suddenly it disappeared, and as I looked 
around all I could see was the clouds overhead 
and the mist rising all round. Somehow or 
other I got turned and wasn’t sure which way 
I’d come through, to be sure, the lake isn’t 
very big.” 

Here he paused for a second, and lighting 
his pipe, he took one or two puffs and con- 
tinued : “Wal, I started to row, but instead 
of going back to my camp, I must have turned 
down the lake, for after some minutes rowing, I 
found I was still in the mist and couldn’t see 
the shore. Thinks I, that’s mighty funny, but 
I hadn’t time to make up my mind which 
way to go, when there again, close at hand, 
was that tarnation thin bright streak of light — 
but very much nearer. Dam yer, thinks I, I’ll 
catch yer if it takes me ’til morning, so again 
I made for it, forgetting all about going to the 
shore. As I went, the light seemed to move 
too. I was now getting kinder mad, and when 
stroke after stroke I took with my paddle, and 


174 


THK GUIDE’S STORY. 


I didn’t gain a bit on it, it raally took my 
temper. Presently I saw it was taking me up 
the little river at the end of the lake, but I 
kept on. I paddled faster and rapidl}^ gained 
on it, and in a second would have been by the 
side of it, when, would you believe it, it dis- 
appeared? And then as quickly it appeared 
again, white and dazzling, but while I saw it 
there, it didn’t seem to be anything nor come 
from anything, and yet there it was. Whether 
it was because the mist had made the air very 
chill, or whether it was that I was frightened, 
I don’t know, but when the light went awa}^ 
again, I shivered and shook and felt mighty 
sorry I had followed it. Now don’t you think 
that a strange experience. ’ ’ 

He stopped for a second and then looked at 
his hearers to see how they were impressed. 

“Well, what happened then, why don’t you 
go on ? ’ ’ several asked at once ; “or is that 
the end ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Is that the end ? No sir, not much. The 
exciting part is yet to come. The mist had 
closed in so that now that the light was gone, 
I couldn’t see a bit, and had to land my canoe 
on the shore of the little river, there only 
about twenty feet wide. As I struck a match, 
there I saw a camp of logs, empty and evi- 
dently deserted. Unlike most camps, it had a 


THK guide’s story. 


175 


door, half open. Wal, I walked to it and went 
in and lighted a fire. You fellows probably 
would feel sorter skeered like, to sleep in a 
place like that after my experience, but I am 
used to the woods and never thought of being 
afeard. 

I lighted a fire and looked round a bit, and 
then feeling sleepy, I turned in. I must have 
slept an hour or so, when I awakened, feeling 
very queer. My fire, being a small one, had 
burnt low, and the hut was pretty dark. I 
heard steps, as of some one slowly approaching^ 
and then the door opened and there walked in 
a very old man, with long beard, and dressed 
in old-fashioned clothes, carrying in one hand 
a rustly old gun, and in the other — a dazzling 
white light, a sort of lamp, casting a light just 
like the pale white streak I had seen on the 
lake. 

I was too skeered ter move, for I felt he 
must either be a sperrit or a crazy man. He 
seated himself before the fire and bowed his 
head on his hands, and groaned aloud. Then 
I saw him go to a little cupboard in the corner, 
made of logs, which I hadn’t noticed, and 
opening it he took out a yellow-looking paper, 
seated himself again and read it. I was dread- 
fully frightened, for I thought he might turn 
and see me any moment, so I kept very still. 


176 


THE guide’s story. 


Some minutes passed, the old man read and 
re-read the paper, then folded it, and arising 
went and put it back in the cupboard. Then 
taking his gun and the bright light in his hands, 
he passed me, apparently without seeing 
me, and went out, his steps sounding faintly — 
even stealthily — on the soft ground outside. 
Again all was dark. I must have fallen 
asleep for I did not wake until late the next 
day. There I was in the hut, so it could not 
be a dream, but look as I could, I couldn’t 
see any cupboard, in fact nothing unusual but 
a big fireplace built of brick and mud. Out- 
side, the sun was shining brightly, but it was 
many a day before I forgot my experience fol- 
lowing that light. Now what do you think it 
was ? ’ ’ 

When the guide stopped, no one replied for 
a moment. 

The moon and stars were still shining, and 
the wind which had arisen was sighing mourn- 
fully through the pines. This, coupled with 
the guide’s story, made several of the party 
furtively glance around as if to assure them- 
selves that no “ sperrit ” was around, yet being 
afraid to let any one see them do it. Miss 
Kitty Brown had crept up closer to her sister, 
and had taken her hand, while her eyes, ex- 
pectant and as large as saucers, were fixed on 
the guide. 


THE GUIDE’S STORY. 


177 


As Lee arose and threw another log on the 
fire, and kicked it to make it blaze up, he saw 
a quizzical look on old Norris’s face, as if he 
was pleased at the result of his story. 

“Well, Norris, you certainly can tell them I 
Perhaps you don’t know l3dng is a sin ! ” said 
Lee with a laugh. “ No wonder you don’t 
take an^’- stock in Murray ! ’ ’ 

Old Norris laughed. “ But it’s true, though,, 
every bit of it, and you can see the old camp 
any day you please. It is only a few miles up 
the river.” 

“ Well, Norris, we don’t believe you all the 
same. But, say. Rod, suppose we go up there 
some day, and take the ladies,” said Lee. 

“ No, count us out. Bob,” broke in Mrs. Lee. 
“ We don’t want to see haunted houses and 
old men ‘sperrits,’ and bright lights. You 
and Rod go, and Kitty and I’ll keep camp.” 

“No, then we’ll give it up,” Bob an- 
swered, and then looking at his watch, he 
continued : “ Come, I had no idea it was so 

late, we must all turn in.” 

Soon sleep came to them, but they dreamed 
of lights and spirits, the fire blazing brightly 
being the only guard or watch on the little 
camp. 


12 


Balsam Boughs. 


I. Leak’s Misadventure. 

T hey were still in camp on the An Sable. 
Early one morning they were all awake, 
for Lee and Ransom were going out for 
a tramp, while Mrs. Eee and Kitty stayed in 
camp, the guide also being left behind to mend 
a boat and cook for them. 

Promising to return in the afternoon, Lee 
and Ransom started, and being both good 
woodsmen, they did not follow any trail but 
taking the course they wished to go, started 
directly into the woods. 

There had been a long dry spell in the 
mountains — a most unusual thing where rains 
are frequent and where days sometimes succeed 
one another without a cessation of the pouring 
rain. As a consequence the ground was dry 
and hard and very easy walking, and the two 
men tramped rapidly along, speaking but little, 
for conversation in the forest is carried on 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


179 


under some difficulties, as the roughness of 
the way makes talk rather disconnected. 

It was a da}^ for the gods ! Already the foliage 
of many of the trees was beginning to turn, and 
these colorings of red, amber, gold and yellow 
contrasted beautifully with the dark leaves of 
the evergreens. The air was blowing crisp 
and cold, and though it boded somewhat of a 
storm, yet coupled with the beauty of the foli- 
age, it made our walkers feel what an ideal 
place the Adirondacks was for a day’s outing. 

Suddenly Rod, who was slightly in the lead, 
paused and beckoning to Lee, when he came 
up showed him some marks on the leaves and 
moss. “Fresh deer tracks, by Jove! Let’s 
follow up. Bob, and see if we have any luck.” 
Lee agreed and away they went, rapidly w^alk- 
ing in the direction the tracks seemed to go. 
They had no dog, but the marks were evidently 
so recently made, they had strong hopes of 
coming up with the deer. 

In their excitement they did not heed which 
way they were going, neither did they notice 
how fast they were walking, nor what time it 
was. They had gone some distance, when 
Rod, again in the lead, held up his hand in 
warning and pointed ahead, and there, sure 
enough, was a fine large buck. Unfortunately, 
Lee, as he glanced ahead, did not notice a 


l8o BALSAM BOUGHS. 

sudden unevenness of the ground, where a 
root catching his foot tripped him and sent him 
headlong, scattering the contents of his pack 
and making sufficient noise to frighten a 
dozen deer. 

Off went the buck, but although Rod fired 
immediately, he merely wounded him if he 
did not entirely miss him. Without dogs it 
was useless to pursue him. 

Lee, mad at himself for his unlucky fall, 
started to get up, but immediately fell back 
with a groan. Rod darted to his side, and 
found that he had badly sprained his ankle. 
A drink of whiskey revived him, but it was 
seen it would be very painful walking for him. 
The sun was by this time high in the heavens, 
and as they looked around they found they 
had not the slightest idea of their whereabouts, 
though they saw they must evidently be far 
from the camp. 

Painfully hobbling along Lee proceeded some 
distance, but the pain of his now swollen ankle 
became so great that presently he stopped and 
told Rod he would have to go on alone and 
leave him, and come back with the guide. 
“You can easily find the way back,” he 
added, ‘ ‘ by blazing the trees as you go. ’ ’ 

Rod positively refused to go, and wanted to 
attempt to carry Lee, to which Lee would not 


BAI.SAM BOUGHS. 


I8l 

agree. Rod did not know what to do ; he 
hated to leave his friend there alone in the 
woods, especially as it was rapidly clouding 
over and a storm seemed imminent, but he 
knew it was foolish to attempt to carry a heavy 
fellow like I^ee. As he looked doubtfully 
around, meditating as to what had better be 
done, he saw a gleam of water. Telling Lee, 
he ran to it and saw it was a little river, and 
on a bend a little ways up was a rickety look- 
ing log-camp. 

‘ ‘ Better than the open woods, though, ’ ’ 
thought he, so running back to Lee he placed 
his arm around his waist, and putting Lee’s 
arms around him, somehow or other they 
finally reached the little camp. 

Pushing open the door, they entered. It 
was a one-story structure, not open on one 
side as the camps in this region usually were, 
but being entirely enclosed and having a 
rough fire-place and chimney on one side, now 
very dilapidated looking, with long fissures 
where the stones and mud had fallen away. 
Lee, with a sigh of relief, threw himself on 
some boughs in one corner while Rod started 
to light a fire. There was soon a bright blaze 
in the hearth, and it was not long before they 
had strengthened the ‘ ‘ inner man ’ ’ with a 
good meal. 


i 82 


BAI.SAM BOUGHS. 


The storm which had been threatening, now 
broke upon them. The lightning darted 
across the sky, the reverberations of thunder 
echoed among the mountains and the rain 
came down in torrents. Presently the thunder 
and lightning ceased, but the heavy rain con- 
tinued without a sign of the clouds breaking 
away. It was now late in the afternoon and 
Tee began to worry for fear his wife would be 
frightened at his non-appearance. Rod also 
appeared to be thinking of this. Perhaps the 
fair Kitty had something to do with the sober- 
ness of his thoughts ! There was no help for 
it, however ; it would be simply foolishness 
for Rod to go on in this rain, and if the guide 
started to find them. Rod’s absence would en- 
tail still another hunt. So they sat there and 
tried to console themselves with thinking that 
Mrs. Tee and Kitty would see at once they 
were detained by the rain, and would be sen- 
sible enough to trust that they would turn up 
safe and sound the following day. 


II. Kitty’s Exploit. 

In the meantime Mrs. Tee and Kitty had 
been having a happy morning in camp. They 
loved the quiet and peace which seemed to per- 


BAI^AM BOUGHS. 


183 


vade this wild region ; they delighted in the 
perfect water and mountain views this lake 
with its surrounding peaks afforded ; they en- 
joyed the exhilarating exercise of a row on 
the smooth surface of the lake, or a stroll on 
the easy trails near the camp, and now that 
autumn was approaching they could gather to 
their heart’s content the gold and bronze leaves 
woman so loves to have. 

On this morning the guide was busy at the 
water’s edge “ fixin’ a boat, ” and alone in the 
camp they amused themselves for a while as a 
woman can, doing various little things which 
men scoff at and yet which add much to their 
comfort. 

“Kitty,” said Mrs. hee, looking up, 
“ doesn’t it look to you like a storm? I do 
hope they will not get caught out in it and 
come hbme soaked ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Rod says, fellows rather like getting 
soaked, as it gives them a good excuse for re- 
course to the whiskey, ” replied Kitty, disre- 
garding the question about the storm. 

‘ ‘ Rod ! Well, when did you get to call him 
Rod, I’d like to know?” questioned Mrs. 
lyee. 

Kitty blushed a little, and then looking de- 
murely at her sister, said : “ Why shouldn’t 

I call him Rod? We should really be old 
friends by this time.” 


184 


BAI^AM BOUGHS. 


Her sister looked at her a moment, thinking 
that that pretty little blush meant more than 
friendships but she discreetly kept her ideas to 
herself. “Well, to answer my question, is it 
going to storm ? ’ ’ she asked again. 

“It looks like it, doesn’t it. They will 
probably appear like two drenched dogs, 
hungry and cross, and mad at the rain for spoil- 
ing their tramp. But Mary, why not seize 
time by the forelock, and take a stroll while it 
is clear ? ’ ’ 

Mrs. Lee assented, and they were soon 
ready, but then changing their minds they 
went out rowing instead, Kitty taking with 
her a little rifle Lee had one time given her. 

The clouds made the play of lights and 
shadows even more beautiful than usual, and 
they were revelling in the exquisite beauty of 
the scene, when Kitty suddenly dropped the 
oars — for she was rowing — and taking the rifle, 
looked towards shore. 

A noble buck was standing irresolutely on 
the bank, having that instant come out of the 
woods. 

“Oh ! Don’t shoot,” cried Mrs. Lee, who 
with all her love for the woods and mountains, 
had a dislike amounting to horror at shooting 
deer. 

It was too late. The rifle had gone off and 


BAI^AM BOUGHS. 1 85 

had done its deadly work, for Kitty was a 
good shot and the nearness to the shore had 
made the stag an easy mark. An agonized 
plunge or two, and there was a noble buck 
lying dead, his beautifully branching antlers 
a fit trophy of the forest. 

Kitty insisted on rowing up to it, much to 
Mrs. Lee’s disgust, who, though praising the 
shot, kept saying, “poor thing!” for it 
seemed pathetic, even wicked, to her, this use- 
less killing of game. The buck had evidently 
been wounded before, and that recently, for 
just underneath the little hole Kitty’s bullet 
had cut to its goal, was another ragged cut 
where a bullet had struck, but not fairly, so as 
to take life. 

When they regained the camp they sent the 
guide for the deer to bring it back, and then 
started for a stroll, Kitty greatly elated at her 
successful shot and dying to see Rod to tell 
him all about it. 

The afternoon wore away. They had re- 
turned from the walk and had been hourly 
expecting the return of Lee and Rod, but still 
they did not come. Then the storm had come 
on, the thunder and lightning and the melan- 
choly down-pour of rain adding to their fears 
for the missing ones. They tried to be philo- 
sophical and not worry, but as all know, when 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


1 86 

some dear one is absent, philosophy loses its 
force, and fears and doubts will creep in. 

Hour after hour passed ; the rain still came 
down heavily ; the wind began to moan dis- 
mally through the trees ; the leaves seemed 
continually falHng and the scene was as dreary 
as could be. Their fire, to be sure, still blazed 
away, for they had poured oil over the logs, 
and once fairly started, even the rain could not 
put out the dry wood blazing away brightly. 

Late in the afternoon, the guide, who was 
used to all sorts of weather, and who minded 
getting drenched no more than a water rat, 
offered to go in search of the missing ones. 
After some hesitancy Mrs. Lee let him go, but 
he had not been gone long before he had to 
return on account of the gathering darkness. 
There was no help for it. 

Mrs. Lee gave them up for that night and in 
spite of her fears for their safety, determined 
to accept resignedly what could not be pre- 
vented. She was somewhat reassured by the 
guide, who told her that Lee and Rod were so 
used to the forest and really such good 
woodsmen, the danger of their being lost was 
very slight, and that the only reason there 
could be for their not returning must be that 
they had wandered very far away, and had 
stopped under cover somewhere on account of 
the rain. 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


187 


Poor Kitty moved about with a most doleful 
look and something in her eyes that looked 
suspiciously like tears. Mrs. Lee, who began 
to suspect the true state of affairs, tried her best 
to comfort her, and when supper was over and 
the guide had disappeared to put away their 
handsome service in the way of tin dishes, she 
drew Kitty to her, and with her young sister’s 
head on her shoulder and her arm softly 
caressing her waist, she drew from Kitty, who 
began to cry softl}^, that Rod had the day 
before asked her to marry him, and that she 
loved Rod and had told him she would think 
it all over and give him his answer in a day 
or two. 

“And now, Mary,” she sobbed, “Rod is 
lost and maybe something has happened to him, 
and he will never know how I really love him. 
Tell me, Polly dear, ’ ’ (using her favorite term 
of endearment), “ do you think he is all 
right?” 

Her sister smiled, even amid her own doubts, 
to see how Kitty had apparently forgotten all 
about Bob, and was only thinking of ‘ ‘ her 
Rod.” 

Trying to console Kitty, she really com- 
forted herself, and when later on the rain 
ceased, she began to feel easier and they man- 
aged to get to sleep. 


i88 


3Ai:.SAM BOUGHS. 


Late in the night she awoke and glancing 
out of the open front of the camp over the 
smouldering embers, she saw that the moon 
and stars were shining brightly, it having 
cleared oiBf very cold and sharp. The beauti- 
ful night seemed to bode good, so after im- 
printing a soft kiss on Kitty’s forehead, as she 
so peacefully slept, Mrs. Lee again closed her 
eyes and was soon deep in slumber. 


III. A Strange Find. 

As night fell, Lee and Rod made themselves 
as comfortable as possible, seeing that they 
must pass the night in the old hut. 

Lee’s ankle was feeling much easier after a 
good rubbing with whiskey, and what was 
better still, a good rest. Rod was continually 
going to the door and looking at the clouds, 
but soon darkness put a stop to this, though 
the constant patter of the rain drops on the 
leaves outside was enough to assure them that 
they could not go on that night. 

Then Rod came and stretched himself before 
the fire, and they lighted their pipes, which so 
often cheer a man and drive away cares. For 
a while they sat in silence. Rod from time to 
time, by that peculiar roll of the tongue, sending 


BAI.SAM BOUGHS. 


189 


the wreaths of blue smoke circling to the ceil- 
ing, one following another, slowly floating 
upward like httle clouds. Lee was gazing 
meditatively at the flames, thinking of the 
other camp and wondering how everything 
was going on there, all the while blaming 
himself for his carelessness in tripping over 
the root which disabled him, as if such things 
were not ordained to be. 

Presently his eyes wandered from the fire to 
the old chimney. This was large and roomy, 
and with the hearth took up all of one side of 
the cabin. It was roughly built of stones and 
mud, and now, after probably years of decay, 
was gradually tumbling down. 

“Rod,” said Lee, “ do you remember that 
story of Norris’s and that stuff about the weird 
streak of light and the ghostly old man ? I 
bet he has seen some old place like this and 
then went and made up the story. What do 
you think ? ’ ’ 

“Well, old fellow, I was just thinking 
about the same crazy tale. Good, wasn’t it, 
and scared your sister-in-law ! Did you notice 
those eyes of hers, big as saucers, while she 
listened ? I don’t believe such a yarn, but 
still it has some things in it that might be 
true. For instance, why shouldn’t there be a 
cupboard and an old letter in it ? ” and Rod 
turned inquiringly to Lee. 


190 BAI^SAM BOUGHS. 

“Well, where is your cupboard and letter 
here? ” replied Lee, as if conclusively settling 
the point. 

“There isn’t any, but what’s the matter 
with that old fireplace? It’s big enough to 
hold any quantity of old manuscripts, let 
alone letters,” said Rod. 

“ Take a look and find them, then,” replied 
Lee, laughingly. 

He had no idea that Rod would take his re- 
mark in earnest, but he did, and arose and 
going to the old fireplace looked up it, for it 
was so large the fire did not touch the sides, 
nor did it make it too hot to investigate. Rod 
cautiously put up his hand, then leaned for^vard, 
again looking up, and then with a sudden 
motion put up the other hand and re-appeared 
in the room, holding — A buackbnhd en- 
VEUOPE ! 

Lee started from his couch and watched 
excitedly as Rod took a letter from the envel- 
ope, unfolded it and spread it on his knees. 
It was an old piece of writing, yellow with 
dampness and age, but easily legible. 

It was a document recording the transfer of 
certain valuable property from one Henry 
Henderson to one Adam Brown. On the back 
of it was written these words : “I have long 
lived in the consciousness of having committed 


BAIvSAM BOUGHS. 


19I 

a terrible wrong. The paper on which I write 
this shows that I gave the property mentioned 
to Adam Brown, a friend, for a sum in cash 
of many thousand dollars. He died the day 
after he gave me the money, before the transfer 
was recorded, and I never handed over the 
property, but kept it and the money. To aid 
now in making restitution is my wish. 

I will say that Brown’s brother, the sole 
heir, knew nothing about the matter, but was 
startled at finding his assets were but a few 
thousands in bank. His heirs are all dead now 
except two nieces, to whom the whole property 
was to go when Brown’s brother died. Their 
names are Mary and Katherine Brown. I 
have lived in the woods many years, and feel 
sure soon to die here, but though I have not 
the pluck to make public confession and atone- 
ment, yet I hope God may grant this letter 
may soon be found by some one who will right 
my wrong. ’ ’ It was signed Henry Henderson. 

Lee and Rod gazed at each other in amaze- 
ment, almost trembling with excitement. ‘ ‘ By 
Jove, ’tis Kity, ’tis Kity ! ” cried Rod. “ The 
old rogue has been defrauding Kitty, the devil 
take him ! ” and then added, “ come Lee, do 
you know anything about this ? Had Kitty a 
rich uncle ? ” 

“Yes, she had ; old Brown, a nice fellow, re- 


192 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


garded to be rich, but who died ten years ago, 
leaving very little, to the surprise of all. Here 
then is the explanation, and I know the prop- 
erty well — a great big lot and house which 
has been empty and deserted these many years, 
but being in the central part of the city is very 
valuable. Well ! Isn’t this a strange happen- 
ing ? ’ ’ and Lee gazed wonderingly at the fire. 

“But do you know what I think?” broke 
in Rod, excitedly. 

“No! What do you?” 

‘ ‘ I believe this old devil Henderson was the 
man to whom the deserted camp we found, be- 
longed, when searching for you years ago, and 
that his was the body we found in the bushes 
and which we buried near Indian Pass, the 
very day we found you I ’ ’ He paused for a 
second, while Lee seemed to ponder. ‘ ‘ And I 
also firmly believe that old Norris, our guide, 
was only half in jest when he told us that story 
about his night in the haunted house, and that 
he actually found this camp and dreamed about 
a letter ! You know stranger things have hap- 
pened — often things inexplicable and unde- 
niably queer ! ” 

There was silence. Rod, after speaking, sat 
looking at Lee, and Lee sat taking in the 
strange letter. Rod picked up his pipe again. 

“ Rod, old boy, ” said Lee, “you are right. 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


193 


and I shouldn’t wonder if your guesses are 
true. Poor fellow ! In this lovely wilderness 
it is a joy to be alone with one’s thoughts 
amid the beauties of nature, if one has a good 
conscience ; but think of the torture and re- 
morse one must have to be alone here, with 
the knowledge of guilt and crime on one’s 
soul ! Poor Henderson, I pity him deeply.” 

Rod said nothing, he evidently had little 
pity for the criminal. 

‘ ‘ Will it not be a surprise for Mary and 
her sister ! Now they will both be rich. Take 
care. Rod, you don’t marry dear little Kitty for 
money ! ’ ’ and Lee laughed. Rod flushed, not 
at the insinuation about the money — for he 
himself was very rich — but at the idea of 
marrying ” dear little Kitty.” 

Soon afterwards they ‘ ‘ turned in. ’ ’ It was 
the middle of the night, when both awakened 
and heard slow, stealthy steps approaching. 
Nearer and nearer they sounded, and Lee and 
Rod thought of the guide’s ghostly visitor and 
unwillingly they felt a strange fear arise. 
With bated breath they waited and watched. 
Nearer drew the steps, louder grew the sounds, 
until they were heard right in front of the 
rickety door which they had not fastened. 

There was a little push and the door opened 
with a dismal sort of squeak, and there, framed 


13 


194 


BAI^AM BOUGHS. 


in the doonv^ay, was their ghostly visitor — A 
FUUU-GROWN PANTHKR ! 

It started as it saw the fire and the occu- 
pants of the cabin, and away it flew as Rod, 
with a shout, “Skat, you beast, away with 
you!” picked up and threw a burning brand 
after their nocturnal caller. 

What a hearty laugh they had, and how they 
chaffed each other at the fears each one had 
felt. Placing several pieces of wood against 
the door, they soon composed themselves to 
sleep again, and slept soundly until morning. 


IV. An UnIvUCky Padduf. 

As the morning wore on and the men did 
not appear, Mrs. I^ee and Kitty became more 
and more anxious. It had cleared off so 
beautifully, however, and the sun was shining 
so brightly, that their spirits were affected too, 
and by and by they began to take a cheerful 
look at things and see that the long absence of 
the dear ones did not necessarily mean that 
they were in danger or that anything very 
disastrous had happened to them. 

But they were lonely, and the guide having 
started off to see if he could find the wan- 
derers, the camp seemed unusually quiet. 


BAIvSAM BOUGHS. 


195 


Karly that morning before starting out, the 
guide had skinned the deer Kitty had killed, 
and had roughly mounted the antlers on a 
strip of wood. 

Kitty was as proud as could be over her 
lucky shot, for she could now boast that 
during her experience in the ‘ ‘ great north 
woods,” she had killed four deer, and could 
fairly be called a modern Diana. 

Mrs. Lee tried to read her a long lecture on 
her wickedness, which she followed up by 
going within the log-camp and reappearing, 
and opening a little book she had of Charles 
Dudley Warner’s, she began to read that 
pathetic little sketch of his of the doe fleeing 
for her life with the dogs following at her 
heels, running her to her death. 

Kitty listened attentively, but her spirit was 
‘ ‘ sporty, ’ ’ as Rod was wont to say, and she 
could not see where was the wickedness in 
killing a deer, and she answered up with a little 
argument of her own, ending with the asser- 
tion that ‘ ‘ that was what deer were made for, 
to be killed ! ” 

Mrs. Lee laughed good-naturedly. She saw 
Kitty could not be convinced, so being tired of 
the subject, she very wisely dropped it, and 
growing restless at the silence of the camp and 
the non -return of the men, she proposed to 


196 


BAI.SAM BOUGHS. 


Kitty that they take their boat and go for a 
row up the river running from the end of the 
lake. 

Kitty assenting, they made ready and were 
soon off. 

Kitty wanted to paddle, so for a while they 
did not use the oars, but allowed the boat to 
be under Kitty’s guidance, she doing the 
paddling. Now, as any one who paddles is 
aware, if you do not understand it, it is hard — 
if you do understand it, it is as delightful as it 
is easy. 

Kitty knew almost nothing about it, but she 
was plucky and determined, and had resolved 
to learn, cost her what it may. Mrs. Lee was 
a patient and a good-natured woman, but after 
half an hour, during which time the boat had 
been made to ‘ ‘ wobble ” and swerve and careen 
— several times almost tipping over, owing to 
Kitty’s erratic strokes — she put a stop to the 
performance, and in her position of matron and 
chaperone, as she said, commanded poor Kitty 
to stop. 

She was obedient and did so, and after a row 
they turned back to the camp. 

They separated, and for some little time Mrs. 
Lee never thought of Kitty or of what she was 
doing. She was startled out of her peace of 
mind, however, by an hallo, in a voice she 
plainly recognized as Kitty’s. 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


197 


Running to the bank, she saw Kitty in a 
boat, some distance out, grounded on a bank 
of lily-pods. 

She had gone out again in the boat to pad- 
dle by herself, and finding herself stranded, as 
it were, she tried to push off with the paddle, 
and in doing so broke it. She had forgotten 
to take the oars, so there she was out in the 
lake, helpless to go either forward or back. 
She was in no danger whatever, but it was 
certainly not pleasant to stay out there the 
balance of the afternoon in a boat. 

Mrs. Lee laughed, and laughed most heart- 
ily, her clear, ringing tones echoing around. 
Then she began to tease her sister, praising 
her paddling, the grace and skill of her stroke, 
the perfect steering and so on. Kitty took 
it all in the best of humor, and was not at all 
provoked, but herself joined in the laughter. 

Then Mrs. Lee went for the oars and push- 
ing off in the other boat, went to her sister’s 
rescue. It is not an easy task to get free from 
the lilies when once they encompass you, and 
it was a matter of some time before they were 
again on the clear water and were rowing to 
the land. 

There they saw the guide, but no Bob and 
no Rod. Their spirits again were on the 
decline and their dinner in the woods seemed 
sad and lonely. 


198 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


V. Rb:>unitkd. 

Mrs. I^ee was really frightened. It was late 
on the afternoon of the second day and still no 
Robert and no Rod. The guide had started 
off again in the direction they had gone when 
they had left the camp, but after tramping 
some hours he came back without having 
found a sign of the missing pair. He had fol- 
lowed their tracks for awhile, but they had 
suddenly become very faint and had apparently 
gone into the bushes, where of course no trace 
would be left. 

He told Mrs. Tee there was no cause for 
fear, as men often were lost for days in the 
woods, but at last would turn up safe and 
sound. 

Poor Kitty was tearful and wretched, and 
Mrs. Tee was equally so. They could do 
nothing, they knew ; but still, waiting and 
hoping were so hard. 

It was almost dusk, w^hen a shout was heard, 
and running to the water from which it came, 
they saw a boat turning from the little river at 
the end of Au Sable Take into the lake itself. 
In the boat were Tee and Rod ! 

Kitty cried and ran inside the camp. Now 
Rod was here at last, she did not want to see 
him. Strange womankind ! 


BAI.SAM BOUGHS. 


199 


What greetings there were and what long 
tales of adventure when around the camp-fire 
they were gathered. The story of the missing 
pair was told with all the details of the won- 
derful letter — the guide listening with open- 
mouthed amazement — and then Rod told how 
in the morning they had found a boat and 
getting in they had poled, paddled and rowed 
the boat along down the little river to the lake 
and so to the camp. 

And then the story of Kitty’s shooting of 
the deer was told, and all about the previous 
wound in its side, it turning out to be the buck 
at which Rod had fired. And then Kitty told 
them she and Rod had had a little talk — 
although she had ran away from him — and if 
they would approve, she and Rod would like 
to announce “their engagement.’’ And then 
there was laughing and kissing and congratu- 
lations, followed by songs and good wishes and 
rare old stories, and it was late in the night, 
that joyful at all being together once more, 
they separated to ‘ ‘ turn in ’ ’ in the various 
little log camps apportioned to the different 
members of the party, all happy and thank- 
ful as they said ‘ ‘ good night. ’ ’ 

Their voices ceased and soon quiet rested 
upon the camp. The wind sighed among the 
tree-tops sweet lullabies ; the trees rustled 


200 


BALSAM BOUGHS. 


softly as if whispering ‘ ‘ pleasant dreams ; ’ ’ 
the little waves of the lake gently lapped the 
shore, making a musical munnur ; the logs of 
the fire blazed merrily away, the dancing 
flames throwing oiit a pleasant glow and 
warmth, as wrapped in their blankets, the 
party was soon buried in sleep, dreaming of 
happy days, as they breathed the fragrance 
of their soft bed of BalsAm Boughs. 


Typography and Presswork by 
Harry Perkier, 1123 Chestnut Street 
Philadelphia, Pa. 



t 



V' •‘I*®- aO* V' 


^ V" c;\ 

• A^ /.e,^.-- •#> 

' Y'^ * 

• C? '* 

4 ^ 



“ ,# * 




•> A^'a « 
♦ ^ ^ « 





V^ 


: : , 
4 0^ ^ 


^ C^ 

■ ^o^‘‘ 3^’* / * *-rr, • ’ ^0 

«» » ♦ O-r *0. .0~ 4* VL'^ ^ V ^ • o-r 40^ 

- .. •#>. .4 ^ ^ ♦WA' 

v->- * * 





‘ a'^ °'*' 

•''T.T*'* a ' ''<^ ‘'®.^*" ,6^' ts A^ 

^ c ® ^ • •- ' » ^ 

• « * -Ss\\\v*.» .N » 

*- '• ^•- V"’'. . "v^'’ V . . . “V- - •'. s’’ 




'>t- *“ 


b V 







< • o 


• '^rS. A^ *- 

: va'^ .* 

4 <Xy 



•* 


^ A® ^ 

t “b-i’ » 

» ■A^’V 

* ^ o 





V 


^ A^ ♦ 


•** 0^^ \> 





^o %rr. aO' 

. .-yMJV- . . ..^j..s ^ 

•■ ’'•A. ■ 



: v\^ • 




^ ti^ 

* a'^ <* 

c°^ .‘■^1'.% % 


•’b ; 

* ^0 *7^ ^ 

<s5>^ V* ^ ^ ,, 





■* V ^ 





,/V 



o • 4 


® c5) iX'- ^ 

/ • ! 


n H a 


o 



►..o’ .<t,' ^ "%■ '\. 

f> » • 0<r <0^ V f » • O* O 

X/ /^'- ’■ 







■** ^ 

^ A ' <K .0^ 

< O ‘ ^ 0 ^ o ® “ ® <» -Jv^ 


b V 


*' • I •• * ^ 

aO^ ^V* V^ "> V' ^ 





<!\ "o*-.* ,G 

>'*>’■ v'^, C° . 



